


Devastation & Reform

by electricsymphony



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricsymphony/pseuds/electricsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the aftermath of loss and the wreckage of hysteria, comes a delicate balance between grief and devastation. Grief is a natural process that cannot be avoided. Devastation is the excess of grief. Reform is your only option, and it's anything but a simple task. Re-write of Season 4. Elejah, Datherine, eventual Kol/Stefan. Includes entire cast of characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my personal adaptation/re-write of S4 of 'The Vampire Diaries'. I hope you'll stay a while. ;)
> 
> Plot lines that you should expect to encounter in this story:
> 
> An extensive delving into the concept of a vampire bloodline, and the widespread implications that has. A complete and thorough investigation and overhaul of the spell in which vampires were created, and subsequently an important focus on the nature and existence of the doppelganger as a supernatural being, as well as the origins of the vampire species. A different spin and attempt on the Vampire Council story line introduced in early S4. The concept of a cure for vampirism used in a completely different context, although still tied to the concept of 'The Five'. Many, many flashbacks including all eras and characters. A focus on a purely platonic aspect of both Stelena and Delena (*gasp*). A complex and intricate Katherine/Elena non-sexual relationship/partnership. A lot of Kol, and all Original Family Members, in flashbacks and in present. A strong focus on Tatia and her meaning to present-day involvement.
> 
> Plot lines that you should be absolutely certain will not appear in this story:
> 
> The existence of the concept of 'sire-bond', anything related to Silas, nohumanity!anybody, and for that matter, humanity switches in general, as well as the character of April.
> 
> This story is dedicated first and foremost to all the Elejah shipper girls of The Official Originals Forum. You guys have such a steadfast devotion and faith in this ship that honestly leaves me in awe more often than not. I wish I could say I had that kind of faith and belief in anything, but sadly, I cannot make this claim. You guys put all other shippers to shame with the deep love and analysis you put into your ship, and it is this above all else that convinced me to make this story primarily featuring Elejah.
> 
> To Taz, who is a constant means of support and friendship, and without whom it would literally be quite impossible to muster up any remaining faith in this fandom, let alone this show. You can claim all you want that the crazy and whacked out ideas I come up with are solely mine, but you should know that it would be impossible to weave them all together without you. You're the best plotting partner anyone could ever ask for.
> 
> To Andy, who's constant encouragement, critique and enthusiasm of my writing is a strong reason why this story exists. Without your words, I would be unable to write a single letter in confidence without second-guessing myself.
> 
> And lastly, to absolutely anyone out there reading this who had their heart and soul ripped out and shredded to pieces by Season Four, for any reason at all. This is for you guys.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. The song lyrics depicted in this chapter and the title come from the song 'Devastation and Reform' and belong to the band 'Relient K', the writers of the song itself, and 2007 Capitol Records. All rights reserved to respective parties.

_Fear can drive stick,_

_and it's taking me down this road,_

_a road down which,_

_i swore i'd never go;_

_and here i sit,_

_thinking of god knows what,_

_afraid to admit i might self destruct._

For thousands of years, humans had contemplated the complexities surrounding death, theorized the likelihood of a pearly white gate greeting your path to the afterlife. Elena Gilbert had never been a highly religious person, and she had never held much stock in the various speculations of life after death. With that said, she had also never expected the afterlife to sound remarkably like a tropical rainforest. She could hear the rustle of wind gusting through a patch of leaves, a squirrel nibbling on the hard shell of an acorn, the distressed caw of a bird looking for its next meal, and beads of rain pelting against a screen door.

She reached her arm up to rub her eyes so she could get a clear picture of her surroundings, but was startled to feel the intense ache in her bones at even the slightest movements. She opened her eyes slowly, as if apprehensive at the possible scene before her, but a blindingly bright white light forced them shut instantly. She let out a painful moan and tried to push herself off the cold, metal slab.

The strength in her elbows gave out and she collapsed back down on the table, her breathing ragged and shallow. There was an intense burning in the back of her throat, and she couldn't recall it ever feeling so sore, not even during the two weeks she stayed home ill in Freshman Year with Laryngitis. She wanted to scoff at the memory of the sermons Pastor Young used to give when she was a little kid that insisted death was 'painless'. Well, this sure as hell wasn't painless.

The soft, unexpected touch was so startling that it made the little hairs on her forearm stand up in reaction. Her whole body seemed tense and on high alert, as if poised to defend from some onslaught of attacks. She shivered and turned away from the touch, moaning incoherent mumbles in protest.

"Elena, stop; it's okay, you're okay." The smooth, reassuring voice was unmistakably Stefan, and now she was even more confused than when she'd woken up. From the touch of the cold metal against her back and the aching bones and joints in every area of her body to Stefan's clear voice reassuring her she was okay, all signs were pointing to still being alive. But that made even less sense than waking up in this strange place. She clearly remembered—in excruciatingly vivid detail, no less—pounding on the water locked windows of Matt's submerged truck, dismissing Stefan's attempt to save her and insisting he take Matt, the painful last breath of water filling her lungs before she slid out of consciousness.

It took considerable effort to open her eyes, and the blinding white light—which she could now discern was a fluorescent lighting fixture—only accentuated the pain of the fierce pounding in her head. She noticed the worried frown on Stefan's face, and although she had been in danger more times than she could count, she had never seen him look this upset and guilty before.

"Where are we?" The question sounded perfectly articulate to her own ears, but her throat was so dry and sore that she assumed it had come out closer to some sort of gibberish. If the reaction on Stefan's face was any indication, he didn't understand a syllable of her question. He took her hand in his own, and the simple gesture sent electric shock waves down her spine, making her shiver in response.

He stroked the side of her cheek and spoke softly. "Lay back, I don't want you hurting yourself." The affectionate gestures were a nice comfort, especially given the tumultuous nature of their non-relationship in the past few months, but it only served to heighten her suspicions. His tone was worried and frantic, as if she were an unstable, skittish creature ready to lash out at a moments notice. Stefan had never spoken to her in such a way, regardless of whether he was dealing with Ripper-tendencies at the time.

She took a deep breath, clenched her fists at her sides, and tried to regain control of her vocal chords. "Stefan, what's going on?" There—she was sure that was coherent enough for Stefan's comprehension.

"Elena, you've-"

"If you give me some bullshit evasion like, 'You've been through so much, let's wait for you to get better', I'll kick you so hard you'll hit the other side of the room."

The unbridled shock on Stefan's face at the aggressiveness of her tone was clearly evident, but he couldn't have possibly been more shocked by her words than Elena herself. She may have felt the anger at being deemed of an unfit mental state to hear the reality of what had happened, but the words had flown out of her mouth before she could even contemplate stopping them.

"I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, "I—I really have no idea where that came from."

Stefan rubbed his forehead to ease some of the tension and gave her a sad smile. "I think I might have an idea." Elena was apprehensive now—nothing seemed to be adding up. Stefan was being more cryptic than normal, this place was alarmingly unfamiliar, and she'd been so certain that her final breath underwater would be the last she'd ever take.

Stefan seemed to be steeling himself with the strength to address her question as the pained look of guilt spread across his face. "Elena, when you were in the hospital with a concussion, it was far worse than Meredith let on. She fed you vampire blood to heal a cerebral hemorrhage, you would've died otherwise."

She looked up at him quizzically, trying to make sense of it. "She fed me vampire blood to heal me? Then w—", she broke off abruptly, aghast in horror as the realizations started to make more sense. "I died. She fed me vampire blood, and I-I died." She felt her arms shaking and her breath coming in short gasps. There was a tightness in her chest that she couldn't describe, her mind flooded with fears and questions she really didn't want answers to.

"Matt… is he okay?"

Stefan nodded solemnly. "He's fine; I got him out in time, he recovered fast."

Elena hesitated slightly. "And Jeremy? Does he… know where I am?"

The pity on Stefan's face was nearly suffocating her. She didn't need the compassion right now; she needed answers. It was not a pleasant sense of irony that after the past year they'd had, the one time she needed him to be stoic and unemotional, he couldn't give it to her. "He's at your house; Caroline, Bonnie and Tyler are all there with him, so he's safe. Yes, he knows what's happened." Stefan took a sharp, deep breath and she could sense the long-winded and unnecessary apology before she heard it. "Elena, I shouldn't have let this happen, I should've been stronger. I'm so sorry, I never meant—"

"Stop; please, just stop." Elena wasn't sure if it was her exasperated tone of voice or the directness of her statement that caused him to pause, but he lapsed into silence at the sound of her voice. "I asked you to save Matt. You're not allowed to feel guilty for an unexpected consequence, okay? Even if I'd known this would happen, I still would've insisted you save him."

Stefan's skepticism was immediate. "Really?"

Elena relented and wondered the same thing herself. Placating Stefan's guilt had become something of a default setting in her, and she wasn't sure if she fully meant that sentiment or whether she was trying to soothe his regret. In the fifteen seconds it took for her to fall unconscious after watching Stefan take Matt, she'd made peace with the hardships of her life, and fully accepted the inevitability of her death. She'd successfully evaded it numerous times, but at what cost? Everyone she loved died because of her. She figured if she died for everyone she loved, it was a fair trade off.

But this was not death. This was something far, far worse.

"I don't know," she conceded. "But what good does it do to wonder that now?"

Stefan gave a weak, halfhearted smile. "Not much, I guess."

"Where's Damon?" She asked after a long pause. "Is he… if you're here, that means Klaus' death can't have caused the death of his bloodline."

"It didn't, thankfully," Stefan confirmed. "Damon was…" Stefan began, the frown lines in the crease of his forehead becoming more pronounced, "He was here earlier. We… got into a disagreement, and he left. Said he was headed home, I guess."

"A disagreement about what?" Elena asked, but she was fairly sure she already knew the answer.

"It's not important right now, we'll deal with it later."

Elena wanted to protest, but she couldn't find the words to argue with. Feeling a bit more strength in her limbs than when she'd first woken up, she sat up on the metal slab and looked around at the dreary morgue she found herself in. Stefan was surveying her with a puzzling expression.

"You're taking this much calmer than I thought you would," he bluntly commented.

Elena laughed distractedly. "Then I'm a far better actress than I give myself credit for, because I'm all over the place right now."

There was that damn tight, overly concerned smile again, and she had the unbearable need to just smack it right off his face. She remembered when she was nine and her fifty-year old forth grade teacher Mrs. Higgins was pregnant the majority of the school year and had proceeded to act like a doting grandmother one day and a horrible drill sergeant the next. She'd asked Kelly Donavon about it one day while eating sandwiches in the park with Matt and Vicki, and she'd commented that 'pregnancy makes everyone get weird mood swings and act like a bitch' while Vicki countered with, 'Yeah, and my mom just never got over that stage', to which she and Matt had collapsed into collective giggles. She wondered inattentively if pregnancy mood swings were comparable with transitioning into a vampire mood swings.

"Well, we have to start somewhere. Talk it out; what are you feeling, what are you thinking?"

Elena eyed him warily. "Well, my mind is all over the place. Half of the time I have all these disturbingly violent thoughts that I can't make sense of, and the other half my mind gets caught in random tangents that I can't make sense of either. My throat is so dry, talking actually hurts. I'm craving meat like I never have in my life."

"Well, all of that is normal—"

Elena scoffs. "Nothing about this is normal. I don't want it to be."

"You shouldn't have to have it b—"

"But it is," Elena insisted. "I can't change it, right? I mean… I've heard you talk about it before. It's a decision that everyone makes. Feed or die? Because I'm dead." Her anger subsides for a moment, the reality of her blasé statement hitting her with a force she wasn't expecting. She blinks away the forming tears in her eyes she wasn't even aware of. She laughs nervously, but they sound decisively like sobs after a few seconds. "I'm dead," she states again, this time with much more force and emotion.

"Elena, you can get through this. I know you can. When you want something to work, you have an unrivaled will and determination that most people can't dream of…"

"What if I don't want it to work?" Elena asked suddenly, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the metal in an effort to focus on something other than the burning hunger in the pit of her stomach. "Will it work then?"

"Elena, that's a decision only you can make. It's rare that anyone will ever choose to be a vampire—it's something that happens to you. You have to choose whether you push through it or let the fear of uncertainty reign over it. But Elena, you can be a vampire without letting it define who you are."

"Can you really?" Elena countered back. "You have to kill to maintain a life source, Stefan. How can that not define you?"

Stefan ran a sweaty palm through his mussed hair and regarded her with sad and tired eyes. "I can't seem to do it, but that doesn't mean it isn't possible. You are not me. Vampires are capable of good, Elena, their will to do good just has to be stronger than their impulses. It's not something most people can achieve."

"And you think I could?" She asks, this time genuinely listening.

"I can't say for certain, no one can. Do you think you could?"

Elena was quiet now, deep in introspection. "Stefan, can you do something for me?"

"Anything," he replied immediately.

"Can you find Elijah for me? Get him to come here and talk to me?"

Judging by his facial expression, that was one of the last things Stefan had been expecting. "Elijah?" He asked, taken aback. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Elena-"

"I need to make a decision. He's what I need to help me make it." Her voice was sharper and more composed than he'd heard it in a long time. He knew there were hundreds of ways this could end in disaster—they'd both just indirectly assisted to the death of his brother, after all—but he couldn't dare deny her the request when she sounded so certain in her conviction.

Stefan's voice was nowhere near as confident when he assented to her questioning glance, "I'll make it happen."

_So lock the windows,_

_and bolt the door,_

_'cause i've got enough problems,_

_without creating more._

Kol really abhorred Mystic Falls. It wasn't just a passive dislike, either. Unlike his other—more sentimentally inclined, although he'd never dare to say it in front of any of them—siblings, he felt no yearning for the nostalgic comforts of his birthplace. It was all trite foolishness in his mind, the way his siblings seemed to revolve their eternal lives around this dreadfully boring town. Niklaus was attempting to set up a base for an army of hybrid freaks in a town littered with young, self-righteous vampires who would oppose him. It was completely nonsensical, and he wondered if he was the only one of his siblings who had noticed the decline in Niklaus' intelligence since the onset of this 21st century.

Admittedly, outside of Mystic Falls and aside from the stupidity it seemed to infringe on his brother, he was quite enjoying the 21st century. He had been a frequent visitor—and often beneficiary, he wasn't ashamed to admit—to the old brothels of 19th century London. The modern version of these brothels, which he quickly caught on were referred to as 'night clubs', were a tasty treat he didn't object to over-indulging in. Although the music sounded like a mixture of an injured monkey and a screeching Bex being denied a trip to a clothing outlet, the girls were loose, provocative, and the best part? They didn't even charge for their promiscuity, nor did they seem to be in need of donations, if the broad shouldered monstrosities they called 'bouncers' were any indication.

So when a text on his new IPhone—(the title of such a device was still a mystery to him, and when Rebekah had e-mailed him the webpage of a company known as 'Apple', he became even more confused that a prestigious and high-grossing company would willingly designate a name for itself that derived from a fruit)—alerted to him to a distress call from the aforementioned sister, he could hardly wait to board a plane—(another fascinatingly interesting new ritual that he'd love to familiarize himself with, particularly the concept of flight attendants and a practice known as the 'Mile High Club')—and return to the desolate dump of suburbia otherwise known as Mystic Falls.

He would bet good money that Rebekah's only dire need stemmed from the online clothing service sold out of some obscure color choice on a pair of obscenely high and tacky high heels. If she wanted some good shopping, wouldn't it make sense to a logical and rational being of higher intelligence to come to New York City—a land of magical shopping establishments on some strip known as 'Fifth Avenue', at least according to last night's dinner before he silenced her with a bite to the neck—rather than to blather on about the inefficiency of the 'World Wide Web' and a weird contraption known as a 'mouse'?—(It didn't take long to come to terms with the fact that these 21st century humans had a distinct affinity for naming inanimate objects after animals and fruits alike).

He arrived in Richmond at about half past noon and grabbed a bite in the form of an overly chatty and oh so willing redhead named Susan who just couldn't wait to get to Barbados and hop on the dicks of all the gorgeous men she planned to meet at her best friend Cindy's wedding where she was serving as Maid of Honor—(unfortunately, the wedding party would have to go without the scrumptious redhead and her less than savory word choices, but really he was doing the entire island of Barbados and the happy couple an honourable service, no doubt).

He took in the familiar surroundings of the mansions sprawling gardens—(he found it garish and unnecessary, but of course his alpha male brother always found juvenile pleasures in the ego boost of the simpleton's awe)—with his lip curled in distaste. Collectively, his family owned hundreds of mansions, castles and estates across every continent, and yet Niklaus deemed Mystic Falls, VA and an overly tawdry mansion a suitable home base.

He hung his coat in the foyer and grabbed a bag of AB negative—(while Kol adamantly refused to drink most bagged blood vampires were so fond of in this century, he would begrudgingly admit that a warmed bag of AB negative was as close to the vein as he could get for impromptu snacking)—before plopping down on the parlor sofa and closing his eyes.

"Bekah?" He scoffed when he heard no response and flipped his feet onto the coffee table—(he made sure to purposefully leave dirt indents on the glass, as Niklaus' beet red face was some of the best entertainment this insipid town had to offer). "I hope you know that you take this situation for granted, dear sister. Contrary to what the evidence might show, I'm not your beck and call boy."

Rebekah appeared hovering outside the door frame, her arms firmly wrapped around her chest, eyes rimmed with puffy red and mascara marks streaming down her cheeks. Kol was in front of her instantly, pushing a lock of blonde hair away from her face. He had seen his sister annoyed, terrified and enraged on numerous occasions, but it had been countless centuries since he could recall her this visibly upset.

"What happened, Rebekah?"

She shook her head vehemently, collapsing into an upholstered red chair next to the roaring fireplace. She stared into the embers spitting sparks onto the cool granite tile, leaving Kol to survey her dispassionate form in confusion.

"I did not fly half way across the country to this backyard pit of suburbia to watch you engage in a staring contest with a fireplace, Bex. You take advantage of my willingness to appease your every whim, and I think you'd ought to ex-"

"Nik is dead," she whispered, her voice unnervingly hollow and defeated. "Mother fashioned a human into a hunter, capable of taking us all down, and with us, the entire vampire race." As she looked up at Kol, a sob escaped and shook her shoulders, "The bastard killed Nik, Kol. He's gone."

~~~~~~~

He thinks that were it not for the honesty and sincerity in Elena's eyes as she spoke her risky request, she might've been purposefully sending him on a suicide mission, blind and defenseless, as a sort of twisted punishment and retribution for his impulsive decisions. But he firmly reminds himself that Elena is not Damon—that Elena would never stoop to something as petty as revenge—and that her request stems from desperation and naivety, not intentional cruelty. As he stares at the intricate brass knocker adorned on the front door of the Mikaelson Mansion however, he can't help but feel that Elena's intentions don't diminish the uncertainty of his newest endeavor.

He had no intention to linger outside and listen in, but the distinct sound of sobs from inside froze his hand from moving another inch. It was Rebekah; he knew it intuitively without having to consider other possibilities. He involuntarily cringed at her words—('The bastard killed Nik…'). It had been a very long time since Stefan had ever associated 'Nik' with 'Klaus', but he couldn't deny that the majority of his compartmentalization of Nik—(his old best friend and confidante)—and Klaus—(the hybrid monster that took everything from him)—was entirely purposeful.

It wasn't a matter of regretting the time he spent with Nik and Rebekah in the 20's—(regardless of his insistence that he would wish away that friendship were he given the opportunity, it would never be true)—but rather, some residual resentment that he was compelled in the first place. Over the course of that year of his life, he'd grown to trust and admire Nik in ways he'd never felt for anyone before, and he'd foolishly assumed the same in return.

The next time he saw Nik, he was merely a copy; a deranged and hollow shadow known as 'Klaus' that was a pale imitation of the man he used to be. He would deny it until his last damned day, but he had never hated Nik for the horrors he inflicted on Elena; he would never hate Nik for ruining the best chance of a relationship he'd ever had; he would never hate Nik for destroying the life he'd built in Mystic Falls.

But he would always hate Nik for choosing to run and disparaging their friendship, their brotherhood—their trust.

"Salvatore, right? Are you the impulsive and pathetic one or the woe-is-me ripper boy-wonder?" The smooth, amused voice jolted Stefan back to reality, and he stood up a little straighter with a sharp intake of breath. "I can never seem to differentiate between the two of you, to be quite honest," Kol continued, a lazy smirk on his lips as he leaned against the door frame.

"We've met," Stefan muttered coldly, "Several times."

"Mhm, I'm aware," Kol assented. "However, that gives no credence for why I should remember you. You Salvatores are a somewhat bland lot, you know; what exactly should be memorable about you compared to the other hundreds of guilt-ridden and terribly uninteresting vampires?"

Stefan raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "You seem oddly chirpy and sarcastic, if you consider the circumstances."

Kol's lip quirked in wry amusement. "Bold move, Salvatore. However, something tells me your impromptu stop-by was not motivated by some juvenile desire to gloat over my brother's death. Were that the case, I'd have expected to find a different Salvatore loitering on our doorstep. So…" He takes a pause, enjoying the younger vampire's clear discomfort. "May I help you? Unless, of course, you're in the midst of a mid-life crisis, and have decided that your eternal life lacks such profound meaning that you've deemed the Girl Scouts a worthy cause to dedicate your devotion towards? If so, I must demand that you adorn the proper attire if you want my business."

Stefan gave a despondent chuckle, but before he could properly retort to Kol's snark, a whip of blonde hair flashed before his eyes and Rebekah stood before him, her eyes narrowed with unbridled hatred and her expression of utmost displeasure. "This is a family matter Stefan, don't you think after what you've done to our family that you could at least grant us such a simple courtesy?"

"Courtesy?" Stefan growled in disbelief at her audacity. "You killed my girlfriend, I think the 'common courtesy' ship has long sailed between us."

Rebekah shrugged nonchalantly. "An eye for an eye then, I suppose. Yet, it is neither myself nor any of my family who dares to intrude on your grieving, is it? I think this speaks for itself."

Stefan nodded despite himself, and gave a short, terse reply. "I am not here on any malevolent agenda, I am simply delivering a message. Elena wishes to speak to Elijah, and I don't have the means of contacting him myself. If you choose not to tell him, that's your business. I'm sorry if that infringes on family matters, but with my role in the situation Elena now finds herself in, I thought it was necessary to give her at least that."

Rebekah let out a bark of a laugh and rolled her eyes. "The pristine little doppelganger is a vampire now, then? Well congratulations on your new pet and good luck in the inevitable battle royale between you and Damon for her affections, but if you think we'll stand by passively and let another doppelganger inflict a hold on Elijah, you're far more naïve than you used to be." With that, she stomped back into the house, not sparing Stefan or Kol another glance.

Stefan turned to walk away, but Kol stopped him dead in his tracks. "Who's blood was it, out of curiosity? I imagine it must've been Damon's, right? He's the impulsive one who'd sacrifice her wishes to keep her with him, or so I've been told." Kol's smile was positively sadistic. "That must be awful for you; I've heard that the immediate maker of a new vampire can often strongly affect the inherent behaviors of their bloodline."

Stefan pauses, his face a shade paler than before. "It's not Damon's blood. I haven't got a clue whose blood it is, no one does. A doctor gave it to her to heal her injuries hours before she drowned, and not even she knows, or if she does, she won't tell me." He sighed in irritation and glared at Kol. "Any other questions or may I be relieved of the interrogation?"

Kol's eyebrow shot up in surprise, and Stefan's suspicions heightened. "A doctor, you say?"

"Meredith Fell. She uses vampire blood to heal her patients often, although who knows where she gets such a consistent stock of it."

Kol's eyes were dancing with mischievous satisfaction, and Stefan shifted his feet uncomfortably; there was nothing remotely reassuring about that. "Well, for the sake of you and your merry band of misfits, I sure do hope that I'm incorrect in what I've heard about new vampires and their bloodlines. For who knows what kind of ruthless and monstrous vampire sweet little Elena could've been made from?"

Stefan took a step forward, his voice low and threatening. "Are you trying to intimidate me? I advise you keep the backhanded comments to yourself."

Kol surveyed Stefan with an impassive expression before promptly bursting into laughter. "Do all you rippers lack a sense of humor or are you just a particularly special case?" He clapped Stefan on the shoulder and gave him a broad grin. "Relax Salvatore, go back to your girl and do try to remove that permanent scowl from your face. It's highly unattractive, how did you even manage to get your girl in the first place?" Kol promptly shut the door in his face before Stefan could get a word in edgewise and listened with a satisfied smirk as the vampire stormed off the property, huffing the entire way. When Kol was sure Stefan was out of earshot, he sat down on the parlor chaise and slung his arm around Rebekah's shoulder.

"You know what this means, don't you Bex?"

Rebekah nodded distractedly. "Stefan Salvatore is alive; how is it possible? You swear you saw Nik turn Mary with your own eyes, and I witnessed her turning Rose myself as well." Rebekah stared at the opposite wall, lost in her searching for meaning of this new development.

"It means that Niklaus is not dead; it means that he cannot be." Her head snapped up at once to stare at her brother in disbelief and shock. "And," he went on, a triumphant smirk on his lips, "The Golden Girl of Mystic Falls is created from my blood." He picked up a decanter filled with rum and passed it to Rebekah, her eyes still wide and movements unresponsive. "If that's not positively hilarious, I can't think of what is."

Rebekah was still gaping at him. "How is that even possible? You've been gone from Mystic Falls for months."

"Nothing you need to fret about, dear sister." He brushed back a strand of her hair and chided her as he took a swig of drink. "Smile, Bekah; frowning is not a good look on you. Niklaus is alive, and the Salvatore's tug of war rope is a vampire created by me. I fail to see the problem in this; I for one find it deliciously priceless." He leaned back and took another celebratory swig, the corners of his mouth turned in amusement.

"Mystic Falls just got a lot more interesting."


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : I have no idea what to say, except that I am so ridiculously apologetic for the delay of this chapter. I could give you a million and one excuses-and trust me, I've got them-but there's really no excuse for having strung you guys along for that long, it's just not right. Although I am not nearly as proud of this outcome as I'd hoped to be, I certainly hope that you all find something in this chapter that at least partially makes up for how long it's been since its original publication, and I sincerely hope that you guys have way more fun reading this than I did writing it. About halfway through this chapter, I realized that I'd never written Elijah before in my three + year history of writing in this fandom, and that was a _huge_ surprise that I hadn't expected to realize, and it in turn caused a huge bout of writer's block I simply could not kick. Add in that, some seriously de-motivating real-life drama, depression about the state of _canon_ TVD and pre-class studying, and well... there you go.
> 
> With that said, given that this is my first time writing Elijah, I'd absolutely love some specific feedback on not only EE's entire last scene, but how Elijah's character came out in general. I'm very nervous about this-not just Elijah, or the Elejah relationship even, but the chapter as a whole and each part in separate-so please do be kind, but don't hesitate to critique, as long as it is constructive critique and not flaming. Constructive criticism is always beneficial, no matter how much or how little or about what. No one benefits from flaming. Please let me know what you guys think, your feedback means the world to me. Without further ado...
> 
> **Disclaimer** : The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. The song lyrics depicted in this chapter, the former chapter and the title come from the song 'Devastation and Reform' and belong to the band 'Relient K', the writers of the song itself, and 2007 Capitol Records. All rights reserved to respective parties.

####  _

I feel like I was born,

for devastation and reform,

destroying everything i love and the worst part is,

i pull my heart out, reconstruct;

but in the end it's nothing but,

a shell of what i had when i first started.

_

In the height of its glory days, the Veritas Estate was the most sought after and admired piece of land in Mystic Falls. A thirty-four year old Giuseppe Salvatore ordered a team of three-dozen men to undertake a five-year construction of what would later become the pride and worth of his family. He was a ruthless and stoic man, a jack-of-all-trades whose patriotism and fierce loyalty knew no bounds. He was also however, cruel, unsympathetic and selfish to absurd extremes. His immense fortunes stemmed from striking gold—quite literally—in the North Georgian Mountains as a young man in the 1820s. The Veritas Estate was completed in the blistering summer months of 1839, and he wed a beautiful and very young Italian Immigrant who spoke little to no English in autumn of the same year. Within twelve months, the just nineteen-year-old Adelaisa had given birth to Giuseppe's first son, and she poured every ounce of her love and devotion into two things—her home and her son.

There were many occurrences when Adelaisa would not speak a word to her husband for stretches of as long as a week. Damon would implore his mother to get along with father, but she would smile sadly and explain to him that not all unions were products of a mutual love. His mother was insistent on lavish birthday celebrations every August 26th, claiming that Giuseppe's money ought to be put to good use, and a celebration of the best day of her life was certainly cause for such a use.

For the entire decade of the 1840s, August 26th became known in the new township of Mystic Falls as Damon Salvatore's Birthday Celebration. Adelaisa would spend every dime and penny Giuseppe possessed on spoiling her son crazy on that one special day of the year.

On August 26th, 1851, an eleven-year old Damon Salvatore attended a funeral, his head bowed in silent remembrance of his mother and his hand squeezed tightly within the sweaty palms of his kid brother. He would shake the hand of Jonathon Gilbert while the man expressed his meaningless condolences; he would try to stifle his smirk while Honoria Fell cried in a fit of hysterics over what a great woman his mother was, all the while wondering what the harpy would say if she knew all the inappropriate names his mother had attributed to her; he would smile at a teary eyed and despondent Stefan while he relayed to his brother the story of a drunken Thomas Brichton Lockwood being kicked in his genitals by Mary Dresden out by the falls a few weeks back; he would shift uncomfortably in his formal dress shoes while Giuseppe gave a rousing and heartfelt speech—(a terrible and dishonorable lie)—on the grand love he shared with his beautiful, young wife; he would cry himself to sleep wrapped in the wool blanket his mother had sewn for him years before, inhaling the deeply unique scent of her rich perfume.

Most importantly of all, he would never again for the next century and a half of his life attribute the date of August 26th with anything of significance.

On August 26th, 2012, Damon Salvatore lie on a yellowed, dingy patch of grass beneath the stars, eyes closed and clutching a bottle of bourbon, surrounded by overgrown brush and wild thorns—the mere ruins of the legacy that was once the Veritas Estate.

The structure that took three-dozen men, years of manual labor and a lot of sweat and tears to manifest was now reduced to nothing more than scattered bits of a broken foundation in the middle of nowhere. The night was eerily quiet, hot and humid, the air thick with a light settling of fog.

Eyes still firmly shut, Damon brought the bottle of bourbon to his lips and as he drank, some of the alcohol spilled onto his chest. He disregarded it, letting the cold liquid seep into the dark fabric of his shirt without so much as a care. He'd been lying there for several hours—days; was it still Wednesday?—and had no desire to trudge back to the Boarding House, lest baby bro and his new vampire sweetheart were _reacquainting_ on Damon's Persian Rug. He could always fall back on the tired and true fuck and dump, but he was fairly certain he'd lapped the entire female population of Mystic Falls' over-eighteens by now—(excluding aforementioned vampire sweetheart and the judgey witch bitch)—and he didn't do seconds.

He pulled himself off the ground, brushing off stains of grass and dirt on the dark jeans slung low on his hips. If you asked any vampire on earth what the most satisfying aspect of their nature was, you'd almost always get the predictable and cliché response of the blissful thrill of the run. Damon derived no pleasure from the inane vampire speed running the majority felt so enamored with; in fact, he found it quite trivial. Whilst hunting, he much preferred to seduce his victims into a false sense of security rather than run circles around their baffled, wide-eyed forms as if some sort of tacky low-budget horror movie villain.

He walked at a relatively normal pace, taking intermittent sips of bourbon as he took inventory. A secluded little bungalow stood tucked into an inconspicuous corner of some brush, a single light illuminated on an old, wooden front porch. It would be far too easy to deceive the home's only occupant—(more than likely an elderly widow on her last legs enjoying the peace and quiet of the remote outdoors with the company of her dusty books and stuffed cats)—into showing him hospitality, but he was sure he could find a more suitable meal with a much better aftertaste.

Judging by the shine of the stars and the dark shade of night, he'd wager a guess that it was approximately 1 in the morning by now. Saint Stefan would either be wrapped in bed sheets, immersed in nauseating monogamy with a particularly infuriating Elena Gilbert, or else stretched out awkwardly on an uncomfortable waiting room armchair. Needless to say, Damon was strongly in favor of the latter.

He could not properly analyze every possible scenario for what he would find upon entering the Boarding House, but he was certain that a very much alone Elena Gilbert ransacking through his liquor cabinet was somewhere very low on the list of potentials. She either hadn't noticed his entrance, or was choosing to ignore it completely, as her head was still firmly buried in inspecting the various bottles in his collection.

His tone was far harsher than he would've liked, but he couldn't deny that he was less than pleased with her. "Looking to get a little drunk, 'Lena?" No answer; she hadn't even attempted to turn and face him. "Stefan isn't hitting the sweet spot tonight, hmm?" Still no answer; not even an indication that she could so much as hear him.

He growled in frustration, in no mood to deal with her bullshit cold shoulder tonight. "Elena!"

She finally turned to face him now, her facial expression entirely impassive, her eyes seeming to pierce straight into his soul. He forgot every single thread of irritation at once and swept her into his arms, murmuring into her hair as he breathed out an audible sigh of relief. "Are you alright; how are you dealing? Have you fed? Fuck 'Lena, you have no idea how worried I've been." The overpowering scent of her hair filled his nostrils, enveloping his senses and usurping his entire rational thought pattern. His posture froze cold—Elena's scent had always been sweet; a delicious but subtle mixture of apples, vanilla and warm cinnamon. This intoxicatingly intense aroma of jasmine, lavender and that unique hint of spice were attributed to someone _very_ different.

"Katherine," he groaned in irritation, his face twisted into a bitter scowl but his tone holding none of the scorn and malice she usually received, but rather possessing a sort of almost resigned acceptance. He couldn't muster the energy to snark with her, but she did not seem too off-put by his reluctance to engage her in banter.

"Relax," Katherine admonished with a terse bluntness, walking unconcerned back towards his liquor cabinet and grabbing a dark bottle of Merlot and two wine glasses, pouring a generous amount of liquid into each. "I haven't come with any underhanded intentions, believe it or not. I just figured you might enjoy a nice nightcap between old friends." She tilted her head slightly and gave him an inquisitive, provocative smile, her arm stretched towards him with one of the filled wine glasses, as though it were a peace offering.

Damon took it warily, but didn't lower his guard. "No ulterior motives, that's what you expect me to believe? So says the woman with the pin-straight hair, loose jeans and tattered keds." He scoffed and took a long sip from the wine glass, noting with bitter disappointment that it tasted quite unremarkable after the harsh burn of bourbon he'd been guzzling down. "Forgive me if I'm inclined to believe your intentions aren't entirely pure, _Miss Katherine_ ," he taunted sardonically.

"Ugh, please," Katherine waved him off with an unamused scoff, "This—while annoyingly unflattering—is an unfortunately necessary measure," she motioned to her significantly downplayed appearance. "You might be surprised to learn the lengths at which any ignorant dumb-ass in this town will bend over backwards for you if they think you're _Elena Gilbert_ ," she gave him a cruel little smile, "It's pathetically disgusting, but ultimately convenient." Her eyes darkened in irritation as she took a small sip of her wine and settled into the parlor sofa, "You can't take chances with compulsion in this town anymore, thanks to you and your infiltration of that idiotic Council. Bravo, Damon, really," she quipped darkly, "It's quite ingenious the way you've equipped those leeches to be far more of a nuisance than they ever should've been…"

Damon raised a dark eyebrow with a patronizing laugh. "Are you telling me that you've adopted Elena's wardrobe because you're running scared of a couple of hopped up amateur hunters with worse aim than my drunkard father after a quart of whiskey? Geez Pierce, you're losing your edge if you expect me to fall for _that_ bullshit."

Katherine glared at him, fighting the sliver of a smile that was threatening to break through. Damon had always had a quick, sharp tongue from the moment she'd met him all those years ago, and it was perhaps this more than anything else that had kept her habitually coming back to him against her best interest. But that was way back then, with a different set of concerns and a different approach to their relationship, as though it were so far removed that it had existed only on a separate plane of reality-it seemed almost quaint looking back on it now with the obstacles they were currently facing. Nowadays, his penchant for conversational wit was mostly just irritating, but there were those occasional moments where it was entertaining, dare she say familiar and even _comforting_. Damon's reactions to her were consistently as far from predictable as possible, and it was such a welcome change from every other uselessly uninspired individual she regularly interacted with.

"If you actually bothered to take anything I taught you to heart and took the time to plan your actions beforehand instead of running impulsively into the fire like the hot-headed savage you act like, you'd be able to see the merits in having trustworthy informants in Mystic Falls. Of course, that's nearly impossible if the whole town is suspicious of you—the whole damn Council practically maps out the residences of every new citizen in town, so they aren't trusting anyone who isn't a founding family member. Therefore, it benefits me for them to view me as Elena; it's hardly a matter of being _scared_. I'm exploiting their ignorance for my own benefit, and trust me, it's working flawlessly."

Damon surveyed her skeptically, trying to figure out what her motive was—she always has a motive; whether it may be potentially lethal was up for debate, but she never did anything without an ulterior motive, and if she thought she could fool him into thinking otherwise, she misjudged how well he knew her. He decided not to press her for information on her plans with the Council, but stored that bit of information away for later.

"Informants, hmm? And what do these lovely little spies spill for you, Kat? The seedy underbelly of Mystic Falls, I presume. The Housewives of Chesterfield County?" He grinned suggestively. "I guess if that's the case, you'll be privy to the knowledge that Carol Lockwood forced Bethany Nichols to sell her rather lucrative stockholdings in Victoria's Secret for an outrageously low price on nothing more than our ever dutiful Mayor's threat of Mrs. Nichols losing her seat as chair of the Town Beautification Committee—can you honestly imagine, what a travesty that would be?!" Damon gripped his chest melodramatically in mock horror, as though it were ghastly to even contemplate.

Anyone with a semi-functioning brain knew that Katherine Pierce was a bitch—cold, selfish, cruel and completely unlovable—and Damon wished he could agree with them, but it always proved difficult when she laughed like _that_. Katherine had so many different variants of laughter, and each one served her a distinct purpose, but it was the most uninhibited and rare of them all—an actual, genuine laugh of humorous appreciation—that was undeniably the most captivating. It wasn't often that he was given an opportunity to bear witness to it, but on those rare occasions, he couldn't deny the warmth and love that seemed to encompass his entire being. He could try to deny the truth and assert stubbornly that he did not harbor (pitifully self-destructive) feelings for her and instead maintain his cold, detached disposition, but bearing the weight of emotional armor _that_ heavy became exhausting. He couldn't uphold that shield anymore, couldn't keep up the mentally draining façade—not when he had so many other things taxing on his worries.

He could allow himself to enjoy the melodious lilt of her beautiful laugh without any sort of repercussion; for one thing, it's not as if she won't be gone within the hour anyway—she always left him out to dry, for better or worse, and if there was one thing reliable and predictable about her, it was that. He was no longer naïve when it came to her—he knew exactly what to expect from her, and without expectation, there was no disappointment. After the past century and a half, he would not be so weak as to fall for any of her insidious schemes anymore—she had lost that power over him a long time ago, and if she foolishly tried to exert it, she was in for one hell of a surprise.

Katherine was still giving him a wry little smile when she spoke, "Mhm, as edge-of-your-seat engrossing as Carol Lockwood's lingerie investments surely are, it wasn't exactly the news or gossip I was alluding to."

Damon frowned, not sure he was comfortable with the direction this conversation was headed. "I imagine then it would not be presumptuous to assume you are referring to Elena's—" he paused, taking a long sip of his wine and analyzing Katherine's reaction, "—precarious situation."

"Precarious situation?" Katherine inquired, an eyebrow raised with an expression on her face landing somewhere between amusement and hauteur. "Let's leave the cryptic insinuations to the professionals and at least try to have a semi-honest conversation. Yes, I'm aware that my poor little doppelganger is hanging within that parlous balance of humanity and vampirism. How could I _not_ know, I am impersonating her on a daily basis, after all—I _make_ it my business to know where she is."

She cocked her head slightly, a condescending smile on her lips as she continued. "How long do you bet she lasts before she dies in a fit of hysterics, refusing to prey on innocent humans because her inane morality demands it? Care to make a wager? I daresay it'll be far easier to impersonate her if she dies in transition, since that idiotic Fell woman will obviously hasten to cover it up. It's a wonder that woman hasn't been sued for malpractice yet, really."

Damon didn't respond immediately, clenching his wine glass just that tiny bit harder. When he spoke, his voice was cold and resolute. "I think you should leave."

Katherine did not look at all convinced, still remaining firmly nestled in her comfortable lounge position on the parlor sofa. "Aw, well that's a real shame. Here I was thinking we were bonding. Did I say something wrong?" She asked innocently—if anything Katherine did could ever be considered innocent, even in jest.

Damon just scowled in response. "You're a bitch, you know that?"

Katherine rolled her eyes and set down her glass to turn fully to face him. "I think the real question is why don't _you_ know that, or have you merely forgotten? Why, after years and years of knowing exactly who I am do you continue to act as though I should be ashamed of concealing my true nature? Even when you were a human, I made absolutely no effort to be fake with you—you knew _exactly_ who I was, and how much of a 'bitch' I was, and if anything, all it did was make you love me more. So if you're expecting me to feel any sort of remorse for acting the way I always have, you're wasting my time."

"What is the point of this? Why are you here, besides to taunt and berate me with your petty insults towards the people I love?"

Katherine laughed, but this time, it wasn't the genuine, honest laugh that he'd grown to adore despite his best efforts not to, but a patronizing laugh that sent chills down his spine. "People you love meaning _Elena_ , am I wrong? You're an _idiot_ , Damon. Do you honestly believe that girl will bring you anything but another century and a half of pathetic heartache?"

"She's not _you_ ," Damon spat back at her, his anger and frustration getting the best of him.

"Well, certainly not; she's far too naïve and trusting to be me, I think we all know that. But let me guarantee you something, Damon—Elena Gilbert will break your heart, just like I did. She may not strategize her manipulations the way I do—hell, she may not even do them consciously—but in the end, it won't matter whether she intended to play you or not. She'll either die in transition and retain that infuriating Saint pedestal she doesn't deserve, or she'll live an eternal vampire life choosing your brother and a life of bunny stew dinners over you, time and time again. If you expect anything different, you'll only be let down. Do yourself a favor and get the fuck over her before that happens, and save yourself the pointless despair over a relationship that never would've worked in the first place."

Damon sighed and stood up, fussing with his mussed, sweaty hair in the mirror in a lazy, halfhearted attempt to smooth it down. "I'm still failing to understand why anything regarding Elena and I even concerns you," he muttered harshly as he took off his leather jacket and hung it up. "Please don't tell me you're planning on pulling a redux on the whole 'Stay away from Elena or I'll rip this town apart until it rains blood' ordeal, 'cause I really don't have the patience for that shit."

Katherine shrugged noncommittally. "I personally don't really care what happens to her either way, or whether you want to spend your miserable eternity pining after her like a poor, sick puppy; I just thought you'd want to know how absolutely pathetic it makes you look. I have nothing against your little Virgin Mary, aside from the fact that her incessant moralizing of every situation is downright nauseating and that her profound lack of fashion sense is an absolute mockery to my legacy-" She trailed off, a smile playing at her lips as she heard Damon's derisive snort although his back was still turned. She began walking back over to the liquor cabinet, "Alright, I have no _murderous_ intentions towards the girl," she amended the statement as she topped off her drink, "I think that's far more than she deserves, really." Her tone was harsh and bitter as she added, "Let's just say that if she _does_ somehow make it through this transition, you'd better hope her acclimation is far smoother than mine was..."

Damon turned around to stare at her incredulously, abruptly taken aback by such a significant admission being stated so casually. He had often times as a human pressed Katherine for information regarding her turning, eager to understand and prepare for his own impending transition. He scowled, feeling nothing but agitation and scorn towards his far too enthusiastic former self. "You never told me anything about how you turned; I asked so many times, and you'd always brush me off-"

"For good reason," Katherine sharply cut him off. She grimaced unpleasantly and Damon got the uncomfortable premonition that perhaps he should've just let it lie; whatever she had been so reluctant to share with him way back then was clearly no easier to divulge now. She set the drink down on the glass in front of her, and it cracked under the force of the gesture. Damon would've been indignant if he wasn't so riveted by this clear display of out-of-character tension.

Her disposition changed so markedly from her usual persona of playful confidence and superiority, and understandably Damon felt more than a little apprehensive by the prospect of _anything_ that could make her act like this. "After I used Rose's blood to turn me, I spent the next thirty years drowning in the blood of thousands of privileged European men looking for a good time—I never stayed in one place too long, hopping around the continent every year or so after draining every last man desperate enough to stumble into a brothel, seeking a whore's company…" she smiled ruefully to herself, lost in her own reflection. "Hundreds became thousands quickly, and it was only a matter of time before that recklessness and impulsivity threatened to undo everything I'd worked so hard for."

She continued on as though he were not there, her lips pressed into a thin line and her gaze seeming to penetrate straight through him, causing him to wonder whether she was truly confiding in him or else subconsciously using him as some twisted confessional. "Elijah found me not long after that, tracking me couldn't have been that difficult. He struck me a bargain; confess that I loved him and that running was a mistake, and he would shelter me from Klaus... teach me to control the _bloodlust_ ," she scoffed and swished her drink back and forth absentmindedly, "As if he'd even had a _clue_ what it really was," she spat bitterly. "So, of course, I lied and claimed that I _did_ love him. What else was I to do at that point? I'd proven too weak to deal with the transition myself, and I was left with no other option but to accept his intervention.

"But of course, reality set in quickly and I panicked. I had managed to escape the role of sacrificial lamb to the oldest and most feared vampire in the world only to accept refuge in the arms of his brother? No, I was _far_ better than that—if I could escape Klaus, I did not need anyone to grant me their asylum, especially not some love-struck fool. A month after I accepted his offer, I made a promise to myself: that I'd continue to run, and never stop until Klaus gave up, until I'd traced every pattern around the world twice over. And so I did—the very next morning, I left Elijah and I evaded his attempts to find me for over three centuries, my own instinctual determination to survive the only means of which to persevere through that raging, uncontrollable lust. It was not until November of 1864 that I caught wind of his presence again—residing as an orphaned guest in your father's home, donning an Englishman's name and touting the respects of Confederate America as the darling debutante I so convincingly portrayed."

"You…" Damon had a hard time vocalizing this train of thought, it had never even occurred to him before. "You ran because Elijah found you? Not because of the town conspiring against vampires…" he whispered to himself, trying to make sense of it.

"Oh please, you honestly thought that I ran from Mystic Falls because I was scared of your Father and _Jonathon Gilbert_? You offend me, Damon," she teased wryly, but her smile was forced and her casual wit falling short.

"I… I can't say I really thought about it much," he admitted truthfully, his tone taking on a bitter quality; "For a hundred and forty five years I thought you were trapped in the church ruins, desiccating from starvation and requiring _my_ assistance," he laughed, throaty and emotional, his self-deprecation not lost on Katherine. "And for the past two, I've been a bit hung up on the whole 'It was always Stefan' admission, so forgive me for not feeling quite up to assessing your motivation," he spat with a bite of disdain in his voice.

The brief flicker of emotion in her eyes clearly resembled some form of regret, and he could've sworn that she very nearly flinched at his harsh accusation. "That's irrelevant, and not why I told you," she dismissed him a little too quickly. "Those first few decades, Damon—" she broke off with a sigh, her eyes exhibiting a worn, tired quality that he'd never seen before. "I don't have anything to quite compare it to. The strangest thing was that it was hardly even a _blood_ lust—not in the traditional sense, not how you've ever experienced it or heard it described. No, it was this insatiable, uncontrollable drive to exhibit control—a powerlust, in a sense. It had very little to do with the actual blood itself, it was this instinctive lust for authority, an impossible covet for a freedom that so starkly contradicted everything implicit in the very nature of being a supernatural entity created to die…"

Damon tried to appear unaffected, but the force and emotion of which she relayed this story was disconcerting. "Katherine, this isn't a Dr. Phil show nor am I your personal therapist; why the fuck do you think I'll care or listen to your whining and woes?"

"I'm not _whining_ , Damon—you should know me better than that. I'm _warning_ you."

"Warning me?" Damon repeated back, his unsteady voice betraying his unease.

"Well, since you seem particularly adamant on sticking around for Elena, I thought I'd do you the courtesy of a sneak peek at what you're signing up for," Katherine smiled in satisfaction, knowing that with this one simple spin of context, she'd regained all the cards back to her hand, as usual.

Damon's face paled considerably before he spoke again. "You think something similar will happen to Elena?"

Katherine smiled mysteriously, content that she was in the best possible position to pique his interest to her advantage. "I don't think--I _know_ , and 'similar' is a bit of an understatement. You see, five-hundred years of plotting and planning is quite a long time, and I didn't spend it all gallivanting with rebellious Confederate rejects. No, I spent much of that time researching the mythology and origins behind the doppelganger; it's all quite fascinating, really. Where do you think our darling Isobel inherited such a profound apt for research?"

"Katherine, if you know something, she needs to know it," Damon asserted resolutely.

"Oh, don't fret, my dear; I do _very much_ intend to have a conversation with the girl once she gets let out of isolation, if she survives long enough. Leave that to me, why don't you?" She tilted her head inquisitively, that playful air back with a dramatic impact. "Besides, I would think you'd have other priorities to focus on today of all days, no? You never were one for extravagant celebration though, were you?"

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion; could she really know what today was? It seemed impossible—possibly one of the only things he _hadn't_ shared with her during those more naïve times was his birth-date.

She stood up with such graceful poise that he'd hardly comprehended the movement before she was leaning unconcerned against the parlor room doorframe, that confident, cryptic smirk making its return. "You know, you distracted me with such intense discussion of doppelganger folklore that I very nearly forgot my reason for the visit."

Damon arched an eyebrow unimpressed, now nursing a pounding headache and wanting her to get to the point, doubting if she even knew how. When she unceremoniously produced a heavy-bound book and set it in front of him, he picked it up curiously, eyeing the title and cautiously running his thumb across the dusty book jacket.

He stared at her in blatant astonishment, taking in with warranted skepticism what appeared to be a genuine smile lighting her features, his eyes never straying from her curious gaze as he held the book with trembling hands and all too apparent trepidation. He flicked it open in haste and searched through its contents for proof of its authenticity, or perhaps evidence of the lack of it. With each turn of a page crease, it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his stubborn stance that the impromptu gift was simply another of her petty attempts at furthering her insidious and relentless mind games.

Ulterior motives for the unexpected gift aside, however, there was no discounting that he was holding an original copy of Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, penned in its native French, and—moreover, still—undeniably his original copy, mysteriously stolen from his belongings during the last few months of his human life and subsequently forgotten over the course of a century. He gaped disbelieving at the small, scribbled cursive notes packed tight within the narrow margins on each and every page, the dark ink still as clear and legible as the day they'd been written. Inhaling a slow, deep breath, he allowed himself to be whisked away by the comfortingly familiar scent of those unique rag pulp pages. His conscious was flooded with images long since suppressed of harsh and lonely winter nights, studying as a cadet under Jackson in the gloomy prison otherwise referred to as the VMI.

It was with still trembling hands and a shaky tremor to his voice that he finally addressed Katherine, still perched languidly against the parlor room doorframe with that trademark casual indifference that she had so effortlessly perfected into its own art form. "What is this?" He asked softly, "Why would you give this to me?"

"It's a gift, Damon," she chastised with an amused lilt to her tone, her dark eyes shining with genuine mirth. "In most customs, it typically elicits a gesture of gratitude."

"A gift," he repeated slowly, as if the word were a foreign concept he was struggling to grasp. "A gift-from _you_ , that already belonged to _me_..." he trailed off with a sarcastic laugh. "How do you have this, Katherine? Have you actually had it _all_ this time?"

Katherine's answering smile seemed almost sympathetic, and Damon's first impulse was to write it off as nothing but a deceiving trick of light-until she spoke. "I found a lot of those margin notes quite illuminating," she mused thoughtfully; "whoever wrote them had a very unconventional perception of Edmond and the state into which he drove himself mad with vengeance... held onto this abstract idea of revenge as justice and clung to it as if it were his last lifeline in a bitter reality devoid and stripped of purpose..." her lips quirked into a wry smile. "I spent the better part of a year adding some of my own notes in response, I think you'll notice, if you take the time to peruse it. I found some interesting connections between the Count and an impulsive, hot-headed savage I once knew..."

Damon was stunned; he had been expecting anything other than this from her random appearance in his parlor, but he had learned time after time that it was only her who possessed the power to surprise and befuddle him so profoundly. He was an idiot for ever letting himself forget this fact. "It shocks me that you'd find the time to even _read_ a book, let alone write notes about it, what with the hectic schedule and laborious demands of all your manipulation schemes," he quipped in an attempt to divert attention away from his unease.

She raised a dark eyebrow and took the final sip of her Merlot. "It was sometime during the early 60s in Carinthia, Austria... beautiful place, settled around the East Alps and surrounded by this serene lake that stretches for miles-but really, beautiful views are captivating only for about two minutes before you realize how dreadfully boring everything else is," she laughed dryly.

Damon set the book down on the coffee table, careful to not take his eyes off Katherine in case she decided to make a quick get-away, and stood before her, his hands fidgeting at his sides, feeling remarkably like a nervous little boy, curious and entranced by the confident and intimidating woman with the smile that held every answer. "Why did you take it in the first place?" - _('Why did you keep it for a hundred and fifty years?')_

But, as per usual, the confident and intimidating woman with the smile that held every answer provided him with nothing but more questions. She took a step back, grabbed her coat off the back of the arm chair it had been draped around and handed him her empty wine glass as she leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "Happy Birthday, Damon."

####  _

An injury I'll cause with my own fist, it—

it seems to me to be slightly masochistic.

_

(Elena Gilbert is fifteen, eyes gleaming with a spark of effervescent mischief, clasping a vial of thick, crimson blood against her chest, and Caroline Forbes stares at her in a state of utter bewilderment and awe. The blonde has never been the squeamish type—unlike Bonnie who had furiously and adamantly refused to participate in this hospital summer volunteer program for incoming freshman—but even _she_ had to admit that the morbid fascination Elena displays with blood sometimes is just plain strange. And yet, she can't find it within her willpower to look away. It's almost curfew now—10 o'clock on the dot, not a second later with her drill sergeant of a mother posing as the friendly sheriff—and the moonlight is shining in its natural element—ominous, beautiful and downright terrifying.

The gleam of dark satisfaction that glimmers in Elena's eyes is accompanied by the slight curve of her lip that is all too familiar to Caroline. The brunette is intrigued by something, a smile widening on her face that's as innocently thoughtful as it is deviously worrisome. 'It's all a matter of perspective', Elena will assert to her blonde friend as they climb the fence over Jared Pitchken's yard to take a dip in his pool. 'Most people limit themselves to one perspective, 'cause that's what you're taught to do. I don't give myself the same restriction.' She leaves the statement hanging behind her, now too absorbed in a new idea or thought tangent to care if Caroline bothered to pick it up.

Caroline sits in English Class, uncharacteristically melancholy and detached as Mr. Benson rambles about the significance and usage of the oxymoron. She giggles at first because of the weird name, but as she listens she begins to think about Elena. Mr. Benson has his eyes narrowed on her, and she stares back at him, affronted by the random attention, before she realizes her hand was in the air. She stares at him long and hard for a moment before sputtering 'If someone were gracefully reckless, would that be an oxymoron?' and she doesn't hear the full extent of the man's answer, because she whips around to stare at the seat Elena should be smiling back from to find it empty. When she turns back to the front of the class, Mr. Benson has changed the topic and she can feel Matt Donavon's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head as she fumbles for a pencil in her make-up bag.

She finds herself in an awkward conversation with a Pastor at a church in North Carolina on one of her routine weekend visits to see her dad and Steven on their lake house. He's preaching something about the nature of the soul and reincarnation and she thinks he's a bit of a loon—(not to mention the fact that she thinks it's hilariously pointless that Steven is a man of such devout faith when her grandmother once told her that homosexuals worship depravity instead of divinity)—but she indulges the short, beady-eyed man because he seems lonely and Caroline considers herself the budding philanthropist of a new generation, as is the slogan on her 'President for Student Council' posters.

She listens to the man prattle on about the purity of the soul, and she finds herself again thinking of Elena. If there's one thing she understands about Elena that no one else does, it's this: the world isn't enough for her. She's restless, clawing at the restraints of small-town suffocation, and _that's_ why she's so rebellious. Elena will break every rule, every constraint and every dictation just because she can and smile and dazzle her way through the whole thing until people resort to classifications of a 'severe attention addiction', but Caroline knows better. She knows better than anyone that there's something about Elena Gilbert that doesn't quite belong, something that's itching to find a purpose in everything purposeless. She knows that Elena is never satisfied, because she sees her constant struggle for meaning, a stimulation for a soul that's too restless to ever be content. She asks the short Pastor man whether he believes that there are any souls that are simply too restless to be at peace with themselves, and he espouses that every soul is restless to escape mortality and find the divine. She doesn't believe him; Elena's never held a lick of interest in the divine, and she knows that no one on earth is as restless as her best friend.

Two hours later, she's contemplating whether to indulge in an impulse buy of crimson red pumps or save the money for that gorgeous cream sweater she saw on display last month at a vintage shop in Richmond when her phone goes off on its loudest volume. She fishes it out of her purse, holds it haphazardly to her ear and promptly drops it with a deafening crack as Bonnie tells her the news of Elena's parents through muddied sobs.

When she returns to Mystic Falls, she finds a hollow impersonation of Elena Gilbert claiming to be her best friend, and Caroline holds fiercely to her conviction that all Elena needs is to get up and get out and open the damn drapes in her window, and Bonnie sends her a sharp glare and reprimands her for how insensitive she's being. Elena doesn't even look up.

There's a distinctly chilling breeze for the beginning of summer, and on June 7th, 2009, Elena sits numb and unresponsive on a hard wooden bench in the middle of a densely populated graveyard. Hundreds of people are gathered around two newly polished headstones, bowing their heads and grieving with copious amounts of uninhibited tears and sorrows. It's late evening, almost close to 9 o' clock, and Elena's been sitting there all day. Caroline's been there all day too—Liz Forbes graciously offered to help Jenna with the overwhelming task of organizing such a large funeral—but she's sure Elena hasn't noticed.

After eleven hours of being still and unresponsive, Elena looks up and the first gaze she meets is Caroline's. Caroline chokes back a startled sob, and tries for her eyes to remain dry as they lock with Elena's. They stare at each other for seconds, minutes, hours—neither of them is quite too sure, but all Caroline can think about is the dull, lifeless stare that she's never seen from Elena before. There's no spark—there's no mischief, there's no fire. There's no _Elena_ , she thinks morbidly, but still can't tear her eyes away. Not until another figure blocks her view, cuts off their direct gaze. It's Bonnie, and she embraces Elena with tears flowing down her cheeks, no words necessary. Elena stiffens noticeably, but eventually relaxes into Bonnie's embrace-allows herself to be comforted.

And Caroline watches from afar, aware with a poignant anguish that she was wrong, so very _very_ wrong. She hadn't ever contemplated it possible that the cruelty of this world could be capable of breaking the most restless, forceful, passionate spirit she'd ever known. But she knows that it has, and as every other person around her mourns the loss of two wonderfully kind individuals, Caroline mourns the loss of her best friend.

Caroline Forbes was fifteen years old and Elena Gilbert was the most fascinating person she'd ever met.

"Drink it," Elena persisted forcefully, her smile coy and teasing, but her eyes showing that crazed desperation—that frenzied thrill so apparent whenever she latched onto an idea that consumed her every thought. The manic excitement that gleamed so brightly under the twinkling stars above them; that spark that was for _Caroline_ , and for Caroline alone.

"'Lena, it's—it's blood," she sputtered, affronted and more than a little disgusted.

"So what?" Elena asked inquisitively. "I know it's blood, I didn't think it was ketchup. I want to know what it tastes like."

"Then _you_ drink it!"

Elena smiled knowingly. "I already did, I want to know what you think."

"How'd it taste?" Caroline asked wearily, taking a step closer to Elena on instinct as though her feet were doing it of their own accord.

"Salty," Elena deadpanned with dry humor. Caroline glared at her, unamused. "Come on, Care; don't ruin the moment," Elena chastised. "Please just try it, for me. I really want to know."

Years later, they would all sit gathered around a fireplace in the Salvatore Boarding House one Christmas Eve, and Damon would make a sarcastic quip that innocent, wholesome Elena would hardly be capable of pressuring a shark into biting. Caroline and Elena would avoid eye contact, each take a shot of whiskey and drown the awkwardness with bouts of fake laughter.

Truth was, in that moment of rebellious camaraderie between two teenage girls without a care in the world outside of Mystic Falls General, with the dark glow of the moonlight casting shadows on Elena's wide, joyful grin, Caroline would've done _anything_ Elena wanted her to, embarrassingly little pressure required.

It was June 7th, 2009 and Caroline Forbes watched the sunset melt into a dark sky and could swear she'd never seen a splattering of stars so dull—could swear that she'd never seen the night sky without its brilliant, radiant spark that she'd come to adore, admire, covet in all the ways she'd never admit to. It was June 7th, 2009 and Caroline mourned the death of a spark whose absence left her whole identity hollow and defeated in a way she couldn't have imagined in her wildest nightmares.)

####  _

But there'd be no story,

without all this dissension;

so I inflict the conflict,

with the utmost of intention.

_

Even under compulsion, her voice was soft and hesitant, sweaty palms fidgeting with the manila folder, hands shaking. "Car accident victim; several signs of distinct punctures in the lungs and internal bleeding."

"Original suggested course of action before the accident?"

"Blood transfusion, but the probability of complication due to the recent car accident and lung injury now presents a high risk factor."

"And was the transfusion successful?"

"No, his condition and vital signs continue to decline."

"And how far has the blood pressure level declined?"

Elena shifted uncomfortably against the tweed fabric of the chair and wished with all her might that she could avoid direct contact with his eyes, but the compulsion made it impossible.

_"Elena,"_ he emphasized dispassionately, his eyes so dark and focused that she couldn't detect a sliver of emotion in them, as he reiterated the question: "What is the patient's blood pressure level?"

"Chronically low; 41/22. It had been stable within the past twenty four hours, but within the last hour has decreased and continues to decline at alarming rates."

Elijah surveyed her trembling hands gripping the fabric of the armchair and he relented his questioning for the moment. They were in a dimly lit waiting room area on the basement level of the hospital, the entire expanse of the floor void of any living presence, the only passageway upstairs a temporary defunct elevator taken out of operation by Dr. Fell for exactly this purpose. Elena was under consensual compulsion not to move from her current seated position, but even given this initial protection, Elijah had no qualms about taking every precaution possible to prevent her from leaving the room in search of fresh blood.

"Does he have any family?" Elijah continued, this time his voice much softer.

"No, he was an orphan and his last remaining family member died two years ago."

"Can you feel the ache in your throat that wants to feed on his blood?"

"Yes," Elena responded, but even with the lack of inflection, Elijah could sense her disgust at the sound of her own words.

"Do you wish to satisfy this instinctual response?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to kill him?"

"No," and _this_ assertion... strong with conviction, and Elijah was momentarily caught off guard that this question was enough to subdue his compulsion. It made the corners of his mouth turn so slightly into the beginning of a smile.

Now, Elijah leaned just that bit closer to her, his voice just the slightest bit softer. "And why is that?"

"It's wrong; there's never a good enough justification for taking a life," Elena stated emphatically, as though it truly were that black and white.

"And if that man were threatening your life or someone you felt compelled to protect?"

"He's not; he's an innocent car accident victim in a hospital with barely any chance of surviving long enough to ever be outdoors again."

"Is he?" Elijah inquired with a thoughtful tilt of his head and a knowing smile. The brief lapse in eye contact caused the compulsion to break and Elena sank back into the chair, breathing heavily, the manila folder falling discarded in her lap. "Allow me to correct your misconception, Elena. It is understandable of course, since I gave you his medical history only with no adequate preface and omitted a different but equally crucial piece of documentation. Adam Andrews' criminal history; please, take a look..." and he passed her a piece of paper that she accepted tentatively.

Emotionally drained, physically exhausted and mentally irritated, Elena had absolutely zero interest in whatever this flimsy piece of paper might tell her about Adam Andrews. She skimmed over the page with casual indifference until a paragraph halfway down the page caused her to pause.

'Andrews captured fifteen-year old Melanie Higgins outside of her Mill Woods home on Saturday, August 21st and restrained her to the passenger seat of his 2007 Black Cadillac CTS (#XDF-5453) and proceeded to swerve into a guard rail along highway State Route 895 in an attempt to dodge an eighteen wheeler truck veering into the lane he was traveling in. The speed at which the car collided with the guardrail is being estimated at between 55 and 60 mph and due to the force of impact and her positioning at the time of the collision, Ms. Higgins was killed on impact. Andrews was discovered thrown from the vehicle and unconscious at the scene. His victim was discovered having been choked to death by a gag around her throat and with various other restraints that held her in place inside the car. Andrews is currently being held in Mystic Falls Hospital ICU for various and potentially fatal medical complications. If the subject recovers, he will be scheduled for trial and will face possible charges of lifetime imprisonment.'

"Now Elena, I need to ask you a question. You aren't under compulsion, but I think you'll understand why I want you to answer seriously and honestly." Elena looked up from the piece of paper she'd been so engrossed in reading, startled to find that the edges were nearly crumpled down to bits with the force of her tight grip. "If Melanie Higgins was your brother Jeremy, and this circumstance of your potential turning had occurred a week earlier, and you were somehow privy to the information that this man would cause his death... would you have stopped it? Would you have gone to the police, tried to convince them to convict a man that you had no suitable evidence to reasonably condemn? Or would _that_ have been a justifiable reason to take a life?"

Elena nods reluctantly, "I understand."

Elijah does not relent, and she thinks that he would be smirking at her attempt to evade the question were this a different circumstance. "Elena, that's not an answer."

"Yes," she says impatiently, not looking him in the eye, her words rushed and disposition frantic- "Yes; I would've killed him, and I would've made it hurt, would've made him bleed for hours for even _considering_ doing that to Jeremy."

Silence. Elena hated silence, avoided it at all costs; it always bred uncertainty and insecurity—elicited doubt. If people were silent, they were judging; _scrutinizing_.

"So would I," he confessed honestly. "I _have_ , as a matter of fact," Elijah continued, seemingly lost in a state of remembrance as he straightened the cuff of his shirt with a rueful smile. "There was a man who was quite taken with my sister in our village-Balder, I still remember the boy; his father was quite a competitor of ours, and therefore our families were not amicable. However, I'd always maintained good relations with most of them, espousing the need for harmonious community over feuds and hostility; I never found the feud between our families to be of much interest. That all changed one day when I found him harassing Rebekah by the streams in the dusk hours after a long day of labor..." a dark look of displeasure spread over his face as he continued the retelling of the story, his tone taking on a lower and distinctly frightening quality.

"He touched her quite inappropriately, and against her wishes, and all I saw was this blinding red... this wish to hurt him in a way I had never lain a hand on anyone ever before. I had never known pure anger that malicious before, but that evening it washed over me and I had not the willpower to do anything but succumb to it. I very nearly beat him to death before Rebekah's cries of horror pulled me out of it... Balder never spoke of it again, never dared-I imagine in fear of what I might have done in retaliation if he had. And that night, in the hours of dwindling darkness, I sat outside our home under the large oak tree in repent and expressed my regret and my fears to Niklaus, who sat and listened... who sat and consoled, who understood why I needed to confide this in him." His voice got very quiet now, and Elena had not moved an inch since he began the telling of this. "Since that night, I have not spoken this story to another soul, and Rebekah and I have never spoken of the incident since."

Elijah sat in a grave silence now, and Elena knew that any condolence she could give would be meaningless. "Elijah, why are you here?"

The question seemed to startle him out of the stupor and he regarded her curiously. "Are you not enjoying my company, Miss Gilbert?", he teased.

Elena laughed, but it was hollow and forced, mirroring perfectly his well-intentioned but ultimately vain attempt at teasing. The emotion in the air was still thick with sorrow, no matter the attempts to dissipate it. "I guess I don't understand why I'm receiving it," Elena stressed in response. "I've spent the entire year we've known each other plotting to kill that same brother you valued so much once upon a time. I stabbed a dagger in the back of the sister you nearly beat a man to death to protect. I took part in a scheme to murder your entire family, _you_ included. I've done more of a grievance to your family than I think anyone else can claim, and yet—you're still here. You're trying to advise me on how to deal with bloodlust, telling me stories that no one else but two of your siblings have ever even heard before. Why are you here?" She reiterated again, her voice faltering even as she tried to keep it steady. The real question of 'Why do you care?' was one she couldn't quite vocalize-not directly.

"Are you questioning the honor of my intentions, Elena?" His wry smile did not seem to register with her, as she quickly and vocally protested to the contrary, but lapsed into silence at his abrupt laughter. "Elena, do you find yourself unworthy of my help?"

"Maybe if you could give me just _one_ logical reason why I am deserving of it, I'd be a bit more inclined to ease up and let you give it. Otherwise, I'm left with nothing but my vague and ridiculously unreliable intuition that's almost always wrong," Elena gave a bitter laugh.

"Yes, you do seem to have a fairly defective intuition considering the countless examples to draw from; I'm afraid I cannot argue with that," his eyes gleamed with good-natured humor.

"Elijah!" She exclaimed in surprise, although to her own ear it sounded somewhat like a reprimand, and she immediately looked down sheepishly, although unable to hide the first genuine smile she'd been able to exhibit in days. "Can you please just answer a question with a straight answer and not another question, _just this once_? I swear I won't mention it ever again, your reputation as Badass Original Headslinger is in no jeopardy."

"'Badass Original Headslinger'?" Elijah repeated the moniker slowly, "Is that how they're referring to me on Craigslist these days?" He mused with a grin. She glared at him and crossed her arms impatiently, her smile replaced with a stubborn and resolute expression. "Very well, then. There is hardly an astonishing secret to it, Miss Gilbert. I find you intriguing—I have met many children over the course of my thousand-year existence, and yet none quite like yourself, not to imply I view you as a child. I've certainly never met anyone—child or not—that has ever displayed such intrepid nerve as to stab oneself in an attempt to fool an Original vampire, nor any that have bothered to feel remorse for unavoidable collateral damage against a maniac hybrid threatening her family. I do believe that I once left you a letter which remarked that your compassion was a gift, Elena." He tilted his head in playful inquisition. "Did you not receive it?"

Elena swallowed convulsively. If there was one thing she couldn't allow herself to mull over right now it was the unsettling implications of 'Always and Forever' that had haunted her thoughts in and out of restless sleep for months. "He was your _brother_ , Elijah; what he was doing to me or my family should change nothing about how you view it," her voice was small in repent, but strong with conviction all the same.

"I am loyal to my family, Elena, but I am not _illogical_. From what I understand of what you're saying, you see it the same. My brother killed you to gain access to an unlimited hybrid army and slaughtered your Aunt without a second thought; my sister actually killed you out of undeserved vengeance; my mother mercilessly used and killed your guardian with no regard for his family or loved ones, and yet you seem to be goading me into acquiescing to your failings against my family. Why?"

Elena looked away sharply, gripping the manila folder tightly to her chest and tapping the heel of her foot nervously. "When I found out what I had really given Esther the means to do to your family, I was terrified of your reaction—of your _disappointment_ —and I lied. I hate lying, and I'm god damn awful at it to boot. And then when it became apparent that the only way to kill Klaus was to kill all of you, I didn't know what else to do, and another one of your brothers died. Because of _me_ …" she broke off, a choke of emotion in her voice. "And I didn't care. I really wish I could say that I did, but I didn't—not then. I didn't really even think about it, not the way I should have. I only cared that you were going to die; it didn't matter that Finn and Kol and Rebekah had to die, too. No— _just you_. That was wrong," she stated with finality, "…and god, I didn't even _know_ it was wrong. That doesn't sound like compassion to me, Elijah, not in the least bit—not _my_ definition of it."

Elijah nodded in understanding. "So, you want me to acknowledge that it was wrong, and you want me to demand an apology." It wasn't a question, and Elena didn't move at all, didn't look him in the eye, still fidgeting with her uncomfortably stiff posture; she didn't need to say or do a thing for him to understand. "Elena, that was wrong of you to ignore that. It was wrong to allow all my siblings to die to kill Klaus. You should apologize to me," he stated unemotionally, staring at her gravely.

She looked him in the eye now, straightening her back to meet him at eye level. "I am sorry, Elijah. I never wanted it to come to that, it never should've, and I never should've let it."

He smiled sadly and let her words sink in around them for a moment. "Did that help?"

She thought on it briefly before smiling back. "Yeah, actually. It does," she stated emphatically, surprised by this realization.

"I hope you realize that it wasn't necessary."

Elena shook her head in disagreement. "It's necessary if I meant it, and I did." She turned away from him, deep in thought. She knew from the moment Elijah sat down across from her that she was going to make the decision to turn—perhaps a part of her had known it since she'd waken up to Stefan's assurance that Jeremy was alive and safe and waiting for her. It dawned on her just then that Elijah had been speaking, because he seemed startled when she declared suddenly, "I'm going to turn—accept the transition. For him," she added the last part in a small whisper that Elijah doubted human ears could've detected.

Elijah did not ask who 'he' was; he had a fairly good idea without her needing to vocalize it. "I know," he responded softly.

Elena stared at him incredulously. "How could you know? … I don't think even _I_ knew until a minute ago…"

Elijah gave a slight shrug and a pensive smile. "I didn't, truly—it merely seemed the appropriate consolation to give."

The fluorescent hospital light that illuminated the waiting room was giving Elena a headache now, and she could feel the bloodlust simmering in her chest, and the pulsing ache behind her gums. "Thank you for being here, although I find it amazing that you came simply upon my call... I definitely expected you to ignore it," she spoke hesitantly; "But I had to ask Stefan to try even if it turned out pointless; if you hadn't noticed, I have a tendency towards stubbornness… _occasionally_ ," she joked with a wry smile.

His facial expression seemed to darken at once, and for a moment she thought that she'd overstepped a boundary and furrowed her brows in confusion. "Elijah…?" She asked cautiously.

"You asked me here?" His voice displayed so much confusion and genuine doubt, and it left her bemused and bewildered at the seemingly obvious question.

"Why… why else would you be here?" She asked, now alarmed at whatever he seemed so befuddled by.

He laughed now, his expression softening and his tone lightening, his laugh a low chuckle of sudden understanding. "I must tell you that I did not receive your _summons_ from the youngest Salvatore…" he trailed off with an amused quirk of his lips at the mere concept. "Of course, I would've rushed to your aid either way," he teased with an eyebrow raise, "…but no, I had a business affair interrupted by a rather loud and determined banging on my door only to receive an enthusiastic Miss Forbes and a slightly more… _distressed_ Miss Bennett," he mused with a laugh.

"Bonnie and Caroline?" Elena repeated in disbelief. It seemed so unlikely; the only way they could've tracked Elijah was by Bonnie's magic, and knowing her best friends the way she did, it was laughable to consider that Bonnie would've given in to Caroline's impulses, especially given the way the witch felt about the entire Original Family.

"Oh yes," he assured her in amusement. "Caroline was particularly adamant on my involvement in your impending… decision. I believe her exact words were, 'You'd better haul your sexy-dressed ass to the hospital ASAP unless you prefer to find Elena missing limbs for how hard Stefan and Damon will be pulling her in every which direction'."

Elena buried her face in her hands for a moment before regaining her composure to look back at Elijah, who was still smirking. "I must admit, that girl has an impressive vigor, I wouldn't dare deny her that. And I cannot help but agree with her statement, while admittedly I would've asserted it less… colorfully," he continued. With a more serious tone he added, "For all the positive attributes the Salvatore men possess—and I don't deny that there are some indeed—remaining objective in the face of possibly losing one they love is certainly not one of them."

"Is that why you're here, then? To provide me an objective opinion?" Elena asked suddenly.

He raised an eyebrow and Elena blushed a little under his scrutiny; "Is that not why you _summoned_ me here, Miss Gilbert?" He asked, emphasizing the irritating word once again with a wide grin, as Elena cursed herself for the third time for implying something with such uncomfortable implications.

"Well… I guess so. As you said, I love them both, but I can't exactly count on Stefan or Damon to give me an objective opinion on whether to turn or not with how much they each have invested in me. It's not as if I blame them for it, I doubt that I could be objective if the situation were reversed. But in this case, yes… I need someone to be objective."

"You needed someone trustworthy who had little or no impeding emotions towards you that would prevent them from being so, and you assumed myself to fit those qualifications… quite resourceful, indeed," he considered thoughtfully, but his tone held a bitter quality to it and Elena almost interrupted him in fear that she'd offended him before he cut her off, "May I ask how you decided that I would fit that criteria?"

"I-" she broke off, stunned. Was he seriously implying what it seemed like? How was she supposed to react to that?

"Elena," he spoke reassuringly now, surely aware that she seemed distressed over his reaction, "I do not fault you for needing an objective opinion; it is not at all a foolish thought. I merely wonder what gave you the impression that I would be of use to you in this way. I'm curious as to which part of my assertion of 'Always and Forever' seemed passively objective to you?"

He did not allow her the time to process this and instead continued with a sad smile, "Elena, I will always attempt to give you the most helpful and constructive advice possible, but if you thought me to be decidedly less objective in the matter of your possible _death_ than either of the Salvatores, I do believe you are mistaken."

"You care about me…" Elena whispered in confusion. She had no idea if it was a statement or a question, but it seemed so impossible either way.

Elijah smiled and reached his hand underneath his chair to feel for something, but Elena was too busy studying his expression to notice or wonder about it. "I suppose I do," he admitted briskly.

Gaining slightly more confidence from this blatant admission, she inquired further. "I happen to remember you once telling me that caring for the doppelganger was not a mistake you would ever make again. I was given the impression that you were a man of your word—"

"Man of my word indeed," he laughed sardonically. "Although I do believe the validity of my word is up for debate, I am undoubtedly a man of many mistakes, Elena, many of which I have repeated centuries and lifetimes over and will continue to do so for centuries and lifetimes to come." He paused for a moment before adding, "May I inquire as to whether you consider us friends, Elena?"

The abrupt change in question startled her, but she answered "Yes" immediately, because even if she hadn't been fully aware of that to begin with, it was the truth.

"Then," he continued, not missing a beat, "As my friend, I will ask of you a piece of objective advice in return—do you think that caring for the latest doppelganger will come to prove a mistake?"

Elena did not look away, staring into his eyes resolutely. "No—I think you can be fairly confident in the fact that she has more than learned her lesson when it comes to deceiving you…"

"And you believe it wise to take her word on this matter?"

She smiled wistfully, "A very wise and equally intimidating man once told me that your word means nothing until you live up to it… so what advice can I really give besides to stick around and find out?"

He reached once again under his chair, and he watched the expression on her face change dramatically. "Elijah… I think there's someone down here. I can…" she cut off, looking around in a panic now, "I can smell it, someone else is down here."

"Elena, I need you to breathe slowly and listen to my voice. No one else is down here; it's just you and I. There is absolutely _no one_ that I will risk you hurting, do you understand?" And with that, he pulled the previously concealed blood bag out from under the chair and placed it in his lap. The compulsion binding her to her seat was still in effect, but he could tell she was struggling to break out of it and not at all coherent to his voice. "Elena, look at me. Talk to me; say something."

Her voice was low and quiet, her eyes still fixated on the blood. "Why couldn't I smell it before?"

"I had it spelled so that it would remain odorless until I touched it; it's a very simple spell, not very difficult to achieve if you know the right sources to secure it." She did not seem the least bit concerned with this, her vision never straying from the blood.

He stood up cautiously and positioned himself carefully in front of the doorway before he spoke; "Elena, you can move now." This effectively broke the compulsion and she lunged for him, with a force of strength he wasn't expecting and it caused him to stumble slightly. Despite his best efforts to calm her agitation down, it seemed to have no effect as she tore the bag right from his hands, staring at it in awe. Although she may have been momentarily dumbstruck by how overpowering the hunger was, it did nothing to subdue her actions as she ripped greedily into the bag at once. Elijah did not let go of his vice grip on her forearm as she sucked down the bag with unrivaled enthusiasm.

He waited as her breathing lessened, her heartbeat slowing and all at once she detangled herself from him and backed away, holding her head down and hiding her face from him. He took a moment to compose himself before he tentatively approached her, but she seemed to have an entirely different idea.

As soon as he made a half-step towards her, she lunged at him once more, this time not for blood, but in a—surprisingly successful—attempt to pin him against the wall. Her newly aching fangs were bared to him, still coated with sticky blood, eyes narrowed and tinged red. It would be reasonable to equate her ability to overpower him simply as a testament to his surprise at the aggression, but he knew it was more than that. He _knew_ because he had seen that manic, frenzied pulse in those very same eyes before, and he knew that this was not mere coincidence. She was too strong for a newborn, too aggressive for her normal behavior. He had a vague idea of what this could mean, but none of it was remotely reassuring. In a sudden realization of panic, he realized if he didn't act somehow, this could get dangerous fast. He hadn't accounted for this kind of strength; he'd have to distract her. It could end up being the only promise he could ever keep for her, but he'd never let her hurt someone-not if it was within his power to stop it.

He pushed her off him with such force that she crashed into and shattered the glass of the reception desk, but it deterred her only momentarily. He stopped her dead in her tracks as she went to attack him again, biting into his own wrist and shoving it out for her. She cocked her head in suspicion briefly before taking it and puncturing her fangs into a deep bite. He hissed in reaction, his instinctual response to struggle and fight, but he remained firmly in place, letting her suck every ounce of his life essence. The valiant distraction effort proved not only to _not_ calm and rationalize her—as was customary with newborns when they were provided with purely original vampire blood—but instead to _further_ fuel the hostility and belligerence.

He was still managing to fend her off from escaping the room, but he couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his spine from the look in her eyes. From that manic desperation that had once been so eerily mirrored in her twin predecessor to her abnormal reaction to his blood, he knew he'd have to take a rather drastic measure. The crack that resounded throughout the room as he snapped her neck sliced through the deafening silence as he watched her slump to the floor, unconscious.

He stared at her immobile form spread out on the floor in horror and penitence as he sunk back into his chair, breathing heavily, completely overwhelmed. Once composed, he carefully took her body and placed it delicately on the reception couch a few meters away before he straightened out his shirt collar, wiped the spilled blood from his hands and chain locked the door behind him. He took a deep breath and reached for the phone on his right; a particularly unconventional Doctor had a hell of a lot of information she needed to clarify.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes** : So, there we have it. I'm a bit unsure about the way I've ended it, but I'll leave that for you awesome people to deliberate on. If you made it through this monster of a chapter, I thank you very much for your time and hope that some of you will want to provide some feedback. :)
> 
> **Extra Note** : I do not currently have a beta-reader, and man, would that be a wonderful thing. If anyone is interested in this unpaid and more than likely frustrating position, I would love it if you could PM me about it, it would be an absolutely amazing thing to have. What I really need is someone to proof-read my work and take out my several annoying tendencies towards ridiculous wordiness and the habit to repeat words and phrases and adverbs, as well as someone to kick my ass into being more time efficient. The position also comes with an Indiana Jones replica whip to snap when I've dozed off as well as a lifetime supply of Mike's Hard Lemonade to deal with me effectively-hey, it's the only way I deal with myself even semi-effectively, let's be real.
> 
> **Next Time** (or within the next two chapters) **on D &R:** Elijah confronts Meredith about rather important facts that she neglectfully omitted from her initial briefing. Jeremy & Elena have a heart to (not-so-regularly-beating) heart on the changes or lack thereof to their sibling-ship. An unexpected and equally unwelcome guest crashes Stefan & Elena's Vampire 101 weekend outing, causing all kinds of frustration and mischief and maybe even a little bit of marshmallow bonding. Bonnie and Tyler begin to realize the extent of which their actions may have impacted a domino effect they have very little control over. Caroline meets a charming and bemusing college student who seems to know a lot more than he should about Mystic Falls with being born and raised in Napa Valley. A certain blonde Original has a very perplexing proposition for a decidedly unreceptive doppelganger... and much more to come in following chapters. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading guys,
> 
> Jamie


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : Hey, guys! I'm excited and running on Monster Energy (the no-sugar, no-calories kind, I swear) adrenaline right now--(and it's 5 in the morning to boot)--so take what I say with a grain of salt. Anyway, this is the 3rd chapter of D&R. Basically, I realized that if I were to fit everything I had initially planned into this chapter, it would've topped at like-20k words, and really, who wants to read all that in one sitting? And plus, you guys and your response to this story has been so damn wonderful that you all deserve faster updates, so this was me attempting to give you that. Believe it or not, this chapter is the cut down version of the original cut down version. Yeah... Anyways, to the EE fans (since I know there are a lot of you following this story), I apologize, but there isn't any direct Elejah interaction in this chapter. There will be very soon. ;) I hope you all still enjoy it, and I'd love some feedback if you guys have the time. Your feedback helps me gauge what you like and don't like, and so it helps the writing process go a lot faster. So please, if you have the time, even just a little feedback goes such a long way.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> **Disclaimer** : The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. All rights reserved to respective parties.

#### III.

Upon initial inspection, there appeared to be an endless array of haphazardly organized documents shoved into a metal file cabinet sealed only with a worn and weathered key lock that busted open upon the slightest flick of his wrist. It was chilly in Meredith Fell's cramped corner office, the thermostat dialed down to the low 60s and the only source of heat emitting in steam wisps from a freshly brewed but seemingly abandoned cup of hot black coffee. Elijah sat at the head of the room, huddled over a dark maple desk, his designer dress shoes lightly crossed over one another as he surveyed one of the documents, the paper worn and thin, the dark ink smudged on the occasional letter.

The distinct spike in heartbeat signaled to the new presence lingering in the doorway, having stopped startled with a strangled gasp caught in her throat, but he didn't even bother to look up from his reading. With a low chuckle and a languid hand gesture towards the coffee mug on his right, he commented with a wry smile, "I've been expecting you for quite a while… I took it upon myself to peruse some of your reading material, I hope that's alright." As he raised his head to nod politely at her in greeting, he continued; "You'll have to forgive my snooping, I simply can't resist a good, compelling story."

Meredith had a handful of scattered and disheveled paperwork clutched tightly to her chest, her hair tousled and eyes frantic. She knew _exactly_ why Elijah was calling on her, and beyond that, her ways around this confrontation were unnervingly limited. She began speaking, her voice small and hesitant—"You see—I was just getting prepared to leave for the night. I wonder if we could possib-"

Elijah flipped a page of the tightly bound packet he was reading through and shook his head briskly, "I'm afraid it cannot wait, Miss Fell. As for your nightly plans, I hasten to question—one does not often pour coffee if they do not intend to work late, do they?"

He swept his hand towards the chair opposite him, a deceptively amiable smile on his face; "Consider this to be your overtime, then. I have quite a few questions for you; I hope it wouldn't be too much a bother? Please, sit; make yourself comfortable. As long as you cooperate, this conversation shouldn't take up too much of your time."

There was a glimmer of fear in her eyes as she reluctantly took a seat opposite him, but her voice rung out strong and determined in a last ditch effort to retain some form of control. "I will humor your questions to our mutual benefit, Elijah, but I must insist that you do not entertain yourself with my confidential files, as they are named such for a reason."

"Oh, of course," Elijah conceded and folded the paper back on the desk in front of him. "Besides, I'd wager a guess that you have a far more riveting story to recount to me about my youngest brother's— _questionable activities_ …" As she struggled to retain a calm and composed disposition in the face of his questioning, he inquired rhetorically, "Do you not? After all, nobody produces a compelling tale quite like my brother… he's something of a character, wouldn't you say?"

Meredith crossed her hands in her lap and did not avert his gaze as she spoke; "You said you had questions—do these count as questions or is this merely the warm-up intimidation?"

"Very blunt of you, Miss Fell—no, I think you know exactly what my questions are."

"And am I meant to simply speculate or would you prefer actual _answers_?"

"My brother's involvement, let's begin there—how have you attained the blood of an Original Vampire, and furthermore, why have you taken up the practice of dispensing them to clients as carelessly as one would an aspirin regimen?"

"I did not take them by force if that is the accusation here, nor even without his full consent, I'll have you know."

Elijah was not remotely surprised by this admission, and it certainly did nothing to alleviate his distress over Kol's questionable ambitions. "You two have brokered a deal then, I presume—something he needs for something you want. What did he demand in return?"

Meredith took a sharp, deep breath and phrased her words carefully. "Census documents—old town records, most within the decade of the 1870s. My family is a strong name in this town, and in this county—I provided him with information, he provided me with blood. It was a simple transaction, and I assure you no one will speculate on the missing documents. All old town records are digitally archived now, no one would have an inkling to the wiser."

_Of course_ , Elijah mused with a thoughtful frown. It followed the pattern, and it was exactly as he expected. Elijah had been keeping tabs on his youngest brother since the day he'd been released from his daggered state not but a few months ago. Kol had made the round trip—Sicily, Gdańsk, Cardiff, New York and back to Mystic Falls all in less than two months. Truth was, he wasn't overly concerned with his brother's inability to release the memory of his tragically fated beloved, no— _that_ , Elijah could've inferred without Meredith's help. It was the blood that was the issue, Kol's reckless and insouciant behavior that threatened the very foundation of their family's well-being.

"May I inquire as to your doctoral certifications, Miss Fell? I only mean to ponder why—as a Founding Family Member of a town staunchly oppositional to vampires—you've taken up a practice that so starkly disputes this stance? I know you are a member of the infamous _secret_ Council, and yet you exploit the very essence of a vampire… and to what end?"

Meredith raised an eyebrow with a hearty laugh, "A formidable enemy is only considered as much if he has something of value—to destroy an enemy and leave that something of value to disintegrate along with them is a terrible waste, don't you think?"

"Do you believe the Council would commend your efforts in preserving the blood of the very creature they wish to annihilate? I daresay they'd declare it treason against the cause. That's a dangerous secret to be keeping in a camp of vampire haters, Meredith. I'm sure that's hardly news to you, however—everything in this office is padlocked shut, after all." Elijah leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with an almost tangible danger and the threat to his voice as sharp as a blade; "Tell me, are you more afraid of the _vampires_ or the Council that protects you from them?"

"What do you want from me, Elijah? I will not entertain these mind games; this is strictly business. Yes, your brother's blood sired Elena Gilbert, I will not deny that. Yes, I am part of the 'secret' council, I will not deny that either. Besides that, I do not understand what more information you want from me, I have nothing more to give."

Elijah sat, silent and pensive for a long pause. "I shall take my leave in a moment, Miss Fell, but first—let us be very clear on something." He stood up, straightened his posture to an imposing stance and spoke deliberately, "You _will_ terminate this practice of dispensing vampire blood _immediately_ , and you will tell no one, Council or otherwise, anything you know of Elena Gilbert or her current condition. Do I make myself clear? For if you should breach either of these demands, you will find yourself staring down an angry mob of Council members out for blood, and make no mistake about it—I will _feed_ you to them… raw, fresh meat for the ravenous hounds, do we understand each other?"

Meredith's voice was shaky, staring into his cold, threatening eyes, but she managed to at the very least mutter out a strangled, "Perfectly understood," before Elijah turned to leave, handing her the filled-to-the-brim coffee cup as he walked past her.

"Then you have nothing to worry about, don't look so frightened. If you have no intent to betray those demands, you have no reason to be frightened."

Meredith seemed to be grappling with the decision whether to say something or not, and decided to speak up just as he reached the doorway. "No, perhaps not… but _you_ might."

Elijah stopped in his tracks, turning around to survey her with a serious expression. "Oh, and how so?"

Meredith's voice was reluctant, but not quite hesitant. "Because as far as you and I are aware, Elena Gilbert has been detained on the ground floor of this hospital for a week now, and yet she's been awfully involved in the Council's plans and meetings recently. Oh, they're all simply thrilled that she's taken such an interest in her family legacy. Do you understand what _I'm_ saying?"

_Katerina_. Elijah could hardly restrain the growl that rumbled low in his throat as he even contemplated the theory. _Oh yes, he understood perfectly._ With a deep, calming breath and a polite nod in her direction, he spoke "Pleasant evening to you Miss Fell, I'm certain we'll be speaking again very soon."

~~~~~~~

"Elena Marie Gilbert, I'm deeply appalled by your deviant behavior. You're being driven around in cars by strange boys, your jeans are ripped—are those new, god-dammit Elena, jeans cost _money_ —and you look like you've been through a hailstorm. _And_ you're three hours past curfew… I never expected this, not from _you_ , Elena… What do you have to say for yourself before I decide on your punishment?"

Elena gave her brother the weariest look she thinks she's ever given him, and he's gone on much stranger tangents than this before. "… You're the dorkiest person I've ever met in my entire life."

"That's it young lady, you're grounded for life!"

The corners of her mouth turned just so. "That was a terrible show."

"You're telling me, that red-headed girl's voice made me want to spork my eyes out with a butter knife," Jeremy finally relented, dropping the act. "Come on 'Lena, what did you expect me to say when you showed up here? There's not exactly a guide-book for the 'My sister just became a vampire' conversation…"

Now she _was_ smiling. If there was anything that would put her mind at ease after a week of detainment and incessant fear, it was her brother's quirky personality. "I don't know, Jer, I was just stupidly afraid-"

"That I'd disown you? Burn you at the stake? Sew a big red 'V' for Vampire on your lapel and start calling you Hester Prynne?"

She made the slightest movement to reach up and whack his shoulder, but pulled back instantly upon the realization that the invisible magical barrier holding her back from him would inevitably stop her. She coughed awkwardly now and tried to shield her nervousness with the crossing of her arms. "Jer, how can you be so nonchalant about all this? I can't even—I can't even _look_ at myself… can't fathom how _you_ can look at me right now…"

At this, his teasing smile dissipated and he frowned. "What's the alternative; break down and let myself really think about it all? Elena, you're _alive_. Well—kinda. More alive than Mom or Dad, or Jenna or Ric—or _Klaus_ , thank god for _that_ one—I mean, you're _here_ , and you're okay, and fuck if I'd ever ask for more than that with what we've been through."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he continued on passionately. "And as for how I can stand to look at you, what the hell kind of question is that? I mean, yeah, your hair looks like a rat's nest and you smell like basement dirt but-"

"Jer, can't you even try to be serious? I'm a _vampire_ —it changes things!"

"I am being serious!" He took a deep breath and his voice softened. "'Lena, I'm looking at you in the very same way I've looked at you for seventeen years. It changes _nothing_. I don't care what species you've become, vampire or mermaid or a fucking wookiee for god sakes—you're my sister, and that'll _never_ change. So your teeth are a little pointier, so maybe we won't need to get a guard dog to scare away the neighbors after all, so maybe your diet is way more gross now—seriously, what does blood even _taste_ like?"—he mused making a disgusted face—"I don't care. I don't care about _any_ of it. At the risk of sounding like a feel-good Modern Family-esque sitcom character, you're my family and you're all I've got and you're my control-freak, judgmental, buzz-kill big sister who I love more than anybody else in this fucked up world, and you'll still be that, always—blood sucker or fun sucker." He paused momentarily, feeling accomplished by the shocked but pleased smile on her face. "But you really _could_ try to work on that buzz-kill thing though—you _do_ know that fun isn't the enemy, right?"

"You're such an ass," she laughed throaty and emotional, the glint in her eyes telling him plain and clear that they were only a comment or two away from full-blown tears.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't be me if I wasn't an ass to you, 'Lena, would I?"

And with that, one lone tear made its way down her cheek. Just one comment away indeed. "No," she assented, "No, you really wouldn't be."

"And you wouldn't be _you_ if you didn't get needlessly emotional over my asinine comments, so see—point proven. Elena Gilbert, the emotional wreck who cried when Mufasa died in the Lion King—vampire or human. I bet you'd _still_ cry if you watched it now, do you want the video for your road trip? Do they even have working VCRs you can buy anymore? Ooh, on second thought, that might not be such a good idea, might make Stefan a little _too_ hungry with all those antelopes and gazelles and shit…"

"I love you, Jer. You're just—" she shook her head, trying to find the right words, her eyes still watery with hot, raw emotion—"How do you do that?"

"Do what? Come up with witty jokes that make you smile? I don't know, I watch a lot of late-night Comedy Centr—"

"No," she cut him off, "Knowing exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right time."

"Oh," he pondered this briefly. "We all have talents in this life, 'Lena. I just have more than most."

They didn't talk for a moment, just stood in comfortable silence on their dimly lit, quiet porch, surveying each other with identical sad smiles. The only noise in the deserted suburban neighborhood at 3 am was coming from the subtle engine hum of Stefan's vintage Porsche waiting for Elena at the end of the driveway.

"I'll be back soon, I swear. No longer than a few days," Elena assured him with so much conviction and determination that he knew she was trying to reassure _herself_ more than she was him. "Bonnie is staying with you the whole time, right? I talked to her about it, she said it's fine and I just—"

"Yup, Bon's promised to babysit me the whole time, not a single shenanigan will occur in your absence, scouts honor," he joked dryly with a mocking salute.

"I really wish I could hug you right now," Elena admitted in a soft voice.

"Just give it some time, I'll still be here when you can. I'll _always_ be here."

"I know," she said through wet tears. "You're the most dependable constant I have Jer, and I love you so much for it. Just—don't worry about me too much, okay? I—I trust Stefan to help me through this, and you should too."

They parted ways after yet another sad smile on Elena's part and she walked back down the driveway to Stefan's car. She slid into the passenger seat silently and didn't say anything for a moment, just stared ahead into the black abyss in front of them.

"Did it go alright?" Stefan asked suddenly, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him.

"Well, it's Jeremy, so—" she started, not coming up with the proper way to describe how the conversation had gone.

Stefan laughed and started the engine, eyeing her sideways with a fond smile. "So something like infuriatingly frustrating but surprisingly comforting?"

Elena raised an eyebrow, shocked by how easily he'd turned her twisted up feelings into coherent words. "Yeah, exactly like that." She fidgeted with a loose thread on the sleeve of her jacket, trying not to meet his eyes. "Look, Stefan—"

He cut her off immediately. "Elena, I get it. I understand completely. You're going through enough right now, and you shouldn't have to worry about the status of our relationship, I won't _let_ you worry about it. I love you, and it doesn't matter how many ripper binges I go through or continents apart we may be, I always will. But I don't expect anything else from you, I don't expect anything that you aren't willing to give."

She'd heard a million times that 'your emotions get heightened when you're a vampire', but no one had ever really described it truthfully. _Truthfully_ , it feels like a thick, tangible rope gagged around your neck, pulling and pulling and pulling, excruciatingly slow bit by excruciatingly slow bit, tighter and tighter and tighter until you feel as though you're going to choke on your own tongue.

"It's not that I'm unwilling to _give_ , really. I just—I want to deal with this without needing to think about where we are. I know it's selfish, but it's something I need to do, something I need to be _able_ to do. I don't want to be away from you, and I'm _not_ , not really—I just don't want to feel weighed down by labels or commitments, you—you get that right?"

Stefan just nodded, although she knew him well enough to know that understanding aside, it was hurting him.

"Stefan, I love you. I know I don't have to prove that, I know that you know that. But I'm also dead scared—I also have an eternity left to live, I just want to live it right. Even just that _word_ is intense—' _eternity_ '—isn't it? God, it scares me like I've never been scared before."

"Elena, I won't lie to you—eternity is a terrifying thing. It's just not something I ever want you to go through alone."

"I'm not alone, I've got you," she rebutted immediately, "But I'm not restricted either. That's what I want to be, that's what I _need_ to be so I can actually make it to the other side of this."

Stefan finally put the car in drive and the background of suburban Mystic Falls began to blur past them. "Then that's what you'll be," he said, "If that's what you need, I can promise you that much."

"Stefan, where are we going? I mean… are we going camping? I don't—I'm a little nervous, hunting animals you know?"

"Oh, we're not hunting animals, 'Lena," he dismissed quickly, and she didn't miss the way his lips turned into a crafty smile.

"No?" She asked, her tone playful but the surprise genuine. "What are we hunting then?"

"Cyborgs," he replied with a completely straight face, "… from the future," he amended as though the inane comment actually needed further explanation.

For the first time in weeks--months?--, Elena's genuine laugh rang throughout the car and Stefan could feel his body temperature spike just from the wonderful noise. With a tone he hadn't heard from her in years, she asked coyly, "Who do you think would win in a fight, a vampire or Arnold Schwarzenegger?"

His grin was so wide that she couldn't help but return the smile; she hadn't seen him this happy in such a long time, and it seemed as though it was infectious. "Depends, I suppose," he drawled in amusement, the crafty smile now a sly smirk, "—is the vampire me or you?"

~~~~~~~

She always knew there was a reason that she'd dreamt of Fifth Avenue shopping sprees, larger than life skyscrapers and Manhattan pent-house living, she thinks bitterly. That bright, spirited curly haired middle-schooler fantasized about the New York high life and getting the hell out of Mystic Falls after graduation since the very first picture she'd ever seen of the city, and yet here she was touring _Whitmore College_ , for god sakes. How had it come to this, honestly? _13-year-old_ Caroline Forbes would be shrieking at her in white hot disbelief right now, she knows this for certain. Even more so if the little girl knew that her main reasoning for settling was the dark-haired savage Lockwood boy who had smudged her t-shirt with ice cream on her first and only field trip to New York and the Empire State Building.

_18-year-old_ Caroline Forbes, however, smiles at the mere thought of that dark-haired boy she'd come to adore in ways she never even thought possible. Her tour guide—a skinny, pimply little guy wearing a wool-knit sweater that she thinks is not only terribly out of fashion, but also ridiculously not weather appropriate—continues on blathering about school clubs, but she isn't really listening. She's completely distracted, thinking of nothing but how she could convince Tyler to cheer her up when she got back. A sly grin twists her lips up as she chuckles at the thought—she hardly ever needed to _convince_ Tyler of much of anything—he had twice the sex drive she did, and _that_ was saying something.

"Um, Miss Forbes?" The tour guy questioned hesitantly. Caroline rolled her eyes and tried to look as though she'd been listening. Why had her mother even insisted on this tour in the first place? 'It's just good insurance to know all your options, sweetheart.' Ugh, she scoffed just at the memory of her mother's voice this morning.

"Anyway," the tour guide continued, "This is the Arts building, so you'd ha—"

Caroline immediately tuned out his voice as she abruptly collided into the chest of a random stranger—but a random stranger who smelled absolutely _amazing_ , her always riled up consciousness couldn't help but chime in.

"I'm sorry," he apologized in a charming accent she couldn't at all place, her head still spinning from his beautiful—and more than likely ridiculously _expensive_ —cologne. "I wasn't looking where I was going, entirely my fault." As he spoke, his entire face lit up, his smile nothing but beautiful, white teeth and genuine sincerity. "I'm Aaron," he introduced with an outstretched hand, "Aaron Mitchell."

By this point, the tour guide was completely forgotten about, and he certainly knew it, as he backed away and left the two alone, muttering something bitterly under his breath that Caroline neither heard nor cared about.

"Caroline Forbes," she introduced back as she shook his hand, firm and soft, his dark brown eyes assessing her from head to toe. She'd never felt insecure in meeting a new acquaintance in her entire life—not until now, at least. "Are you a student here?" She asked instinctively, although she knew it was ridiculous to even consider. Unlike the tour guide with the horrific sweater, this man dressed impeccably, wore a watch that probably cost as much as her entire outfit and exuded an air around him that gave every indication that he was not from nor currently inhabiting in Mystic Falls.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Forbes," he said, "And no, I'm afraid I'm not. I was having lunch with an old friend, he's a professor here actually. Although I certainly am glad I could be of assistance in getting rid of your—" he paused, an amused smile on his lips, "— _company_ for you; you looked more than a little uncomfortable."

Caroline was a little weary of his forwardness, if she was being honest—after all, when you meet a hot, charming stranger in Mystic Falls, it was usually the cue for warning bells; she'd learned _that_ one the hard way. "Well then, I thank you very much for the heroic save; it certainly wasn't necessary, however."

"Are _you_ a student here, Caroline?" He asked with an inquisitive tilt of his head, that same charming smile plastered all over his face. She wished she could turn and walk away, but something about him was—magnetic. Her consciousness now berated her for sounding like a terribly cheesy romance novel, but she didn't mean it in the sense of sexually. There was _literally_ something that seemed to be enticing her to speak more with him and that, in and of itself, was definitely not a good sign.

"No, I'm not." She didn't offer anything other than that, and he didn't press her for any extra information. "Where are you from, then? If you're only passing through…"

"California," Aaron told her with a radiant smile, "Napa Valley, actually—born and raised. And what about you, darling? Are you also 'just passing through'?"

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion--that accent was definitely _not_ from California, wherever it _was_ from--and decided that she wasn't so fond of where this conversation was headed. He was charming, indeed—a bit too much so, really—but there was an underlying sense of creepiness in his persona that she just couldn't shake, and it reminded her unnervingly of her first impression of Damon.

"I like to keep an air of mystery about myself," she joked nervously, "It keeps life so much more interesting, don't you think?"

"An air of mystery?" He repeated, thoughtful at this declaration. He seemed entirely oblivious to her joking manner, because as they locked eyes and he spoke, "We have so much in common then, my darling, because I feel the exact same way," she knew with a heavy sense of dread and foreboding that he was most certainly _not_ joking.

He checked his watch with a pensive smile and turned to face her again. "I'm terribly sorry, Caroline, I must be going. It was wonderful to meet you—I'll be in town for a little while, perhaps we could meet again? Or is that just a bit _too_ scheduled for your penchant towards mystery?"

She didn't know what to say, standing there almost wishing she _hadn't_ bumped into this beguiling man and had instead been bored to death by the scrawny tour guide boy, so she merely smiled and nodded, having absolutely _zero_ intention of ever seeing this guy again.

_Well_ , she mused to herself as she drove back to Mystic Falls, radio blaring some top 40 pop tune that did wonders to drown out her previous misgivings, _We can certainly cross Whitmore off the list, Mom._

~~~~~~~

"Philadelphia?" Elena asked incredulously, grabbing her coat and getting out of Stefan's car, glancing around at the congested crowds and plethora of migraine-inducing lights. "What the hell are we planning on hunting _here_ , strippers?"

"Now Elena, don't confuse me for Damon; I have no stripper-involved plans," Stefan chided playfully as he got out of the drivers side of the car and tossed his keys at the valet, that same playful smirk that she'd loved four hours ago but could now do without still ever present on his lips.

It was then that Elena finally looked up and noticed the imposing, tall and very _fancy_ building they were headed into. Although she would've probably put it slightly more tactfully, Jeremy wasn't wrong in assessing that she looked like she'd been beaten to death by a hailstorm, and now Stefan assumed that she was about to go in _there_ and make a fool of herself? Oh, _hell no_. She'd been so confident in letting Stefan take the reigns before, but now she was beginning to get a little uncomfortably dubious.

"Stefan, what on earth are we doing here? I wish you'd told me we were coming to a place like this, I would've dressed slightly less—" but her voice just trailed off, her gaze still taking in the expansive and impressive landscape of the posh hotel. He handed her luggage from the trunk of his car and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her into an all too familiar warm hug.

"Hey, you look perfect, and if you don't, who really cares? Look, you can take a shower as soon as we get upstairs and I'll even take you out shopping afterwards if you're still preoccupied about it." She didn't look convinced, and he let out a long sigh as he took his bag from the backseat as well. "Elena, do you trust me with this?"

"I thought I did…" she muttered, unsure and uneasy at how many people crowded them on all sides.

"Elena, _do you trust me with this_?" He asked again, not relenting.

"Yes…" she admitted weakly. "But how can you expect me to be so calm when there's about a thousand people I could easily lose control on in about five seconds flat? I mean…" her shoulders slumped and she looked completely defeated, "A city? How is that going to be anything but a colossal disaster?"

"You think you're going to hurt someone?" He asked rhetorically, and much to her surprise, he smiled, which only further fueled her anger.

"Is there something I should be aware of right now?" She asked through clenched teeth, in obvious irritation.

"Try it," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Give it a whirl; try to take a step away from me to attack someone and see what happens, Elena."

Her anger reaching its boiling point, she marched away from him, only to be pushed back after a few steps by that same invisible barrier that she knew guarded the homes of civilians from vampires. She turned back to him, her eyes flashing red with subtle veins underneath them, completely startled and indignant.

"What the hell is going on?" She demanded, hating the fact that she was clearly left very much in the dark about something here.

He smiled sadly, took her back in his arms, attempted to calm her down slightly, and then released her, looking at her bemused expression with a hint of regret. "Seriously Elena, what do you think I was trying to do here? Do you think I would've even let you out of the damn _hospital_ without insurance that you wouldn't hurt someone? I will _never_ let you kill someone, Elena—I don't ever want you to know what that feels like," he assured her with that calm, comforting tone she'd grown so used to over the years. "Bonnie spelled you so that you couldn't get more than twenty feet away from me… should you _actually_ lose control and attempt to attack someone, you couldn't get far enough from me that I wouldn't stop you in less than a second. Elena, you have to learn blood control in a place that forces you to meet it head on, but I'm not going to compromise anyone's safety for it. You…" his voice became hesitant now, as though he was doubting what once was so confident before. "I was so sure you'd understand, Elena—I just want to do right by you, for once."

It wasn't flawed logic—it _did_ make sense to have that kind of safety net, but still… she was positive that she'd be feeling much more appreciative of the effort if she wasn't currently feeling remarkably like a misbehaving dog with a shock collar.

"Can we just go inside, please? There's too much commotion out here…" she told him testily, and he immediately complied, ushering them both to the reception desk where he gave them his name.

"Sir?" The man asked uncertainly, "Mr. Stefan Salvatore checked in about two hours ago; I'll need to see some identification. Are you a guest of Mr. Salvatore's?"

Elena and Stefan both looked at each other in a panic, each with the exact same thought. Stefan instantly compelled the man for a room key, and debated his options. Due to the spell—the one that had seemed so handy not five minutes ago, and was now a hindrance—he couldn't leave Elena downstairs, and yet, he couldn't predict who would be up in the suite that he'd booked. It could be a trap too, so it wasn't all that wise to simply leave the building either, that could be exactly what they were expected to do. He could feel Elena clutching the fabric of his shirt hard, her eyes showing the panicked train of thought that so closely mirrored his own.

"Stay next to me, and when I go inside, you stay outside the door… don't go inside the suite no matter what you hear, you got it?"

Elena nodded warily, and Stefan knew his words were meaningless—she'd bolt in immediately if she thought he was in trouble—but still, he didn't have time to harp on that.

When they reached the suite doors, he put his finger to his lips to silence her, and immediately entered the hotel room, looking around for the culprit, his stance ready and waiting for a fight. What he found, however, had him dropping the fighting stance instantly, opting instead for slack-jawed shock.

Kol Mikaelson was spread out shirtless on the hotel bed, a tray of food at his bedside, a clearly dead blonde maid sprawled out on the carpet and a TV remote control resting in his hands. "Ah, Salvatore," he greeted with a grandiose hand-gesture to come towards him, "So nice of you to finally join me, I've been waiting a long time for you to get here. Did you know that they have _terribly_ dreadful movies on this system they call 'Pay-Per-View'? I mean, honestly—" he gestured towards the TV as if to validate his point, "What is this _'Get Him to the Greek'_ bullshit? It's such an idiotic concept I wish I could stake whomever came up with this goddamned tripe. I do indeed weep for the death of good old-fashioned theatre—this is what they call entertainment these days? Pitiful, simply disgusting."

Stefan was still staring, unable to process this ridiculously unforeseen gate-crashing.

Kol simply rolled his eyes and turned his attention back towards the television. "Take a seat, Salvatore, and you look like a fish with that expression—really doesn't suit you, to be honest." And then with a smirk full of devious intent, he added, "Oh, and do please tell the doppelganger lurking outside to come in and get all good and settled… no one likes an eavesdropper, Gilbert. That's lesson #1, you really ought to be writing this down." He gave Stefan a wry smile, leaned back further into the plush bedspread and fluffed pillows, sighing in smug satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes** : Alright, there we have it. Originally, I had a much more cliff-hangery cliff hanger to end on, but if I had, this would've been way longer and I really wanted to post it tonight for you guys, you wonderful people don't deserve my crappy writing habits. But hey, I got this one out in less than two months. That's way better than the time before that. Let's shoot for less time for the next one? ... Too optimistic?


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : This chapter is dedicated to all of you lovely people for still reading this story-I can't even imagine sticking with a story that updates so sporadically like this for so long. You're amazing, and every one of you mean the world to me. It is for this reason that I'm making a stronger commitment to this story from here on out. You guys deserve better.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Please, if you have the time and you enjoyed the chapter or have suggestions, leave a review. Fanfiction is a two-way street. If I don't know my audience or what they like and dislike, it's a lot harder to gauge how you guys want things to go and implement that to the best of my ability.

All roads led nowhere but more frustration. He knocked back a swig of whiskey and wrinkled his brow at the papers in front of him, eyeing them as if they'd done him a personal wrong. He didn't indulge in excess amounts of alcohol often, but the circumstances of his dead-end research seemed as good an excuse as any. Even posthumously, his father—(and his unnatural creation, the nuisance otherwise known as 'The Five')—were haunting his every waking step.

It had been a long and tumultuous path to arrive where he was now, ripe with ambiguity and shoddy estimation, and he couldn't even be entirely sure he had the right man. Although the bloodline of the Five Families was shrouded in mystery, he was fairly confident that the man he was looking for went by the name of Clarke Smyth and had resided in Mystic Falls up until 7 years ago when he went so far under the radar that even Elijah's highly trained witches couldn't dig up his whereabouts.

Of course, if he was correct, all of his witches combined couldn't even create a worthy defense. He finished off the last ring of whiskey at the bottom of his glass and relished its sour taste as it slid down his throat with a harsh burn. He held the glass to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut in a moment of deep contemplation. The voice that echoed suddenly from his right startled him out of his reverie.

The amused smirk he was greeted with was not one he was used to seeing spread across the face of Jeremy Gilbert. The kid had never seemed comfortable enough in his own skin to exchange even a few words with the elder vampire, let alone brash enough to find humour in his discomposure. Perhaps in light of Elena's transition, his relationship with the _eldest_ Gilbert wasn't the only one that had changed.

"You look like someone kicked your puppy," Jeremy drawled smoothly as he took the vacated seat next to Elijah at the bar. Elijah looked up suddenly, realizing that a few hours had passed since he'd last checked his watch, and the entire premises of the Grill was now wholly vacant. "So who's signed themselves up for an Original's ass-kicking wrath?"

Elijah chuckled, low and dark and raised a skeptical eyebrow at Jeremy; "We do not merely ' _kick ass',_ Jeremy… we obliterate existences. We make the most meticulous murder look like a child's accident."

Jeremy laughed, unaffected by Elijah's chilling declaration. The vampire wondered whether this boy knew just how easily he could snap his entire body in two. Had his family really lost their edge in this town or was this boy simply too brash for his own good? "Alright then—you still haven't answered the question, Sir Bad-Ass Original. Whose existence is about to get obliterated?"

Elijah rubbed the temples above his eyes in exasperation. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Jeremy."

"Is it a threat to my sister? Because, if so, I'll make it my business." Jeremy's tone was sharp, his eyes cold, stern and resolute—a side of the youngest Gilbert that Elijah had definitely never witnessed before. It shouldn't be all that surprising however, as there seemed to be an ongoing trend in the Gilbert family for having the steel and resolve to surprise and befuddle even the most prepared of victims.

"I can assure you that I'm _handling_ it, Jeremy. Your concern is noted."

" _Noted_?" Jeremy snorted, affronted, his nostrils flared in anger. "You want to know what else I've 'noted', Elijah? I specifically sought _you_ out to help my sister through this vampire bullshit, and you've gone and let her gallivant 'round fucking wherever with only an unstable ripper for company. Why the hell aren't you interfering in _that_ mess rather than drowning your sorrows at closing time in a bar like a goddamn Semisonic song?" Rather than let Elijah digest all this, Jeremy plowed on, "I was under the impression we were on the same page when it came to Elena's safety."

Trying to take Jeremy's anger with a silent sort of grace, Elijah dispelled the hostility and answered solemnly, "We _are_ on the same page, Jeremy. I have things that require my immediate attention here, but worry not, I have sent someone to keep an eye on your sister and make sure she doesn't come into any trouble."

"Sent someone?" Jeremy's eyes were narrowed, more confused than angry now. "Like… one of your brother's leftover hybrid drones?"

"No—as in, I sent my _brother_."

"Your _brother?!"_ Jeremy shouted, his voice strained. "As in… the one who would've gladly ripped out my jugular in Denver had I made the slightest wrong move?"

Elijah couldn't help the low rumble of laughter bubbling up in his chest—on a base level, he did sympathize with Jeremy's concerns for Elena, but the look on the young man's face was comically hysterical.

"Please, Jeremy—regardless of any impressions my brother may have left on you, I have only the utmost faith that he will carry out my instructions to the letter." A distasteful curl of his lips was almost instinctual as he even contemplated the idea of instructing any harm to come to Elena—"And you can be positively assured that I would never order the slightest harm to your sister, I think we've established this."

Jeremy's concern was now visible in the crevices of his frown. "And you can assure me that Kol will carry out your wishes?"

"He carried out Klaus' wishes to watch over you in Denver, did he not?" To this, Jeremy had no rebuttal. Elijah smiled, traced the rim of his glass with his index finger and averted his eyes from the large stack of haphazard paper in front of him. "As hard as it may be to believe, while my brother may put his own unique _flair_ on things, he is devoutly loyal first and foremost to our family. _'The fortune of one is the fortune of all.'_ This was a lesson our mother instilled in us from birth, and Kol especially took to the concept. So, _again,_ I assure you that I am handling it." A quirk of his lips now, and an almost taunting smile. "Any other concerns that you want 'noted'?"

"You haven't convinced me," Jeremy said finally after a long pause.

"This was not my aim."

"It wasn't?" Jeremy asked.

"No," Elijah admitted with a sad smile; "Jeremy, you took a risk when you convinced Bonnie to track me down. You did this because you had faith that I could be of help to your sister. You had faith in _me,_ and my intentions towards your sister. But where's your faith in the ironclad will of your sister, Jeremy? Do you have doubts that she could be influenced into something she did not agree to?"

Jeremy considered this with a rueful smile on his face; "No, I suppose not. No one I know possesses the stubborn streak that Elena does."

Elijah smiled hesitantly, glad to quell Jeremy's wrath for a moment so he could think for himself. He was reluctant to tell Jeremy the truth of the matter for fear of his reaction; truthfully, if Elena was in danger, there was very little Elijah could do about it. He hadn't sent Kol to watch over her because he was otherwise _occupied_ —there wasn't much more paramount to him than Elena's safety at the moment—but rather, because his brother was literally the _only_ vampire on earth at the moment who stood a chance at subduing the danger surrounding her transition. It wasn't common custom for a vampire's sire to help acclimate merely due to tradition, no; it was common because the blood of the sire is the _only_ method to subdue a new vampire's lust. With the added caveat of the inclusion of _Original_ blood and Elena's strange behavior that night in the hospital, Elijah knew with a profound sense of dread that Mystic Falls' newest vampire's safety now hinged precariously on the erratic whims of his brother's temper.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy's voice cut like a slice through the deafening silence of Elijah's internal musings, "I shouldn't have taken all that out on you—I'm… worried about her, and you just got the brunt of it," he shrugged in apology.

"I know you're worried about her, Jeremy." _So am I._ "It's perfectly understandable." _You have no idea how much._ Steering the conversation topic away from uncomfortable subjects with a fluid ease perfected over centuries of cultured diplomacy, Elijah furrowed his brows to peer at Jeremy through his peripheral vision. "How is it going without your sister at home, Jeremy?"

Jeremy narrowed his eyes, looking for underlying subtext in the innocent question that didn't exist. He exhaled and wrung his hands together in nervous habit, "It's—lonely. Bonnie's been hanging around a lot of the time, but it's just not the same." He paused, unsure if he should continue his line of thought; "Without Alaric, it doesn't really feel like home anymore. He was the last person that gave this town any sanity," he declared without the barest thread of irony in his statement, just passionate conviction.

Elijah didn't offer any condolences on Alaric—truth was, he didn't find it his place to dispense them, and would've bet good money that Jeremy wouldn't have either. "You'll find a natural rhythm again—it's inevitable, life ebbs and flows all around you and you learn to adapt—that's the wonderful thing about humans, Jeremy, is their adaptability to new surroundings. Try not to get too caught up in change, and the next thing you know, you'll find yourself in an environment that you created without even enacting conscious will, and you'll be better off than you were before."

Jeremy was startled by Elijah's advice, but offered him a grateful smile anyway. "I should go… if Bonnie finds I've slipped away she'll go ape-shit on me." He scoffed and shook his head, "Talk about following someone's instructions to the letter, she hasn't let me out of her sight since Elena left."

Elijah smiled back, but it did not reach his eyes. "It's a wonderful thing to have people look out for your well-being, Jeremy. It would be a fatal mistake to forsake such a gift."

Jeremy hesitated, a rebuttal thick and heavy on his tongue, but he held it in and walked away. He already had mixed feelings about the Original Family and their involvement in his sister's life. He didn't need to insert his own problems and stir the already complicated pot any further.

"We're 'bout to close up in ten minutes." Elijah looked up, and saw Matt Donavon standing before him, the boy's blonde hair disheveled and sweaty, a kitchen towel draped over his left shoulder as he snatched the empty glass on the bar and began rinsing it with a perfected air of routine. "And I don't know what the hell you've been analyzing all night, but you look like you could use a break."

Elijah may come to regret involving a boy so central to so many important players in this town in something so pivotal to the safety of his family, but he needed a reliable source who had been around Mystic Falls long enough to know the truth, and both of the Gilbert siblings were far too curious to drop the subject once asked.

"I was wondering if you could answer something for me—" Elijah broke off, scrutinizing the way Matt's attention seemed to perk up all at once. "Have you ever heard the name 'Clarke Smyth' before?"

If he knew whether this Clarke Smyth had known about Elena's true heritage as the doppelganger, he could better prepare for how dangerous this could get. While it was true he was looking for a reaction, he wasn't expecting the one he got.

Matt's naturally smooth, carefree smile disappeared and his healthy skin tone turned into a deathly pale pallor in a matter of seconds. The glass he was washing smashed in the sink and he cursed violently as a stray shard of glass cut the inside of his wrist. His stammer of a reply only accentuated the intense reaction. "Wh-why the hell would you ask me that?"

Elijah did not attempt to quell Matt's reaction; he was too close to the truth now to dare redact the statement. "He was a man who lived here some time ago, and I have reason to believe he might be a danger to my family—and to Elena. Anything you could tell me about him and who he knew in this town would be a great help."

If possible, Matt's complexion paled even further at the inquisition. His shoulders slumped, his eyes bulged and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Clarke Smyth is my father—" he admitted with great difficulty, "He's known Elena since she was born—granted, he's a bastard and a prick, but where do you get off thinking he's a danger to her?"

*****

"Fucking hell, Bennett, stab me with that thing one more time, I dare you!"

Bonnie set her hands on her hips and gave Tyler a withering glare. "It's a cotton swab, you big baby, and I'm only trying to help."

"Well try _less_ ," Tyler hissed bitterly. In the past twenty-four hours, he'd faced the inevitability of his own death, been possessed by his sociopathic hybrid sire, faced uncertain oblivion in the darkness of limbo only to be forcefully, brutally and painfully yanked back to reality by the most determined witch in existence. Bonnie Bennett was a force to be reckoned with, that was for sure, and any other day of the week he would've meant that as a compliment, but after the day he'd had, he'd rather she had left him _dead_ dead.

"You're upset," she remarked dryly, "But I don't think you even understand what I had to go through to save you."

The scoff that escaped his constricted throat sounded deadly when it tore through his body. Did that bastard break out of his goddamn ribcage on the way out too, 'cause it sure as hell felt like it. "Dammit Bennett, of course I understand what you did, why the hell do you think I'm so pissed off?"

She was in his face momentarily, the throbbing vein in her forehead looking as if it were about to burst. "What's your issue, Lockwood? What the hell did I do that was so blasphemous—besides, y'know, the obvious of _saving your life_."

He winced as he stood up, but it didn't deter the power of his voice. "You saved Klaus! With all your bullshit about destroying the prick and getting everything back to normal or 'balanced' or whatever it is you witches spout about, you went and saved his ass!"

"To save _yours_!" Bonnie shouted back, just as loud. "I feel like you're missing this _very_ integral part of the equation. You would've _died,_ you moron!"

Tyler took a deep breath, staring at her as though she'd grown another head. His voice was softer now, but full of a powerful conviction he didn't know was inside of him. "So what?"

Bonnie stilled her pacing, pivoted and stared back at him, shocked.

"Klaus would've died, Bennett—been wiped off this earth, _forever._ Who cares if a whole orphanage of pudgy-cheeked babies would've died instead, it's _Klaus._ What part of that don't _you_ understand?"

Bonnie flopped back down on the couch, visibly defeated. "Why am I repeatedly getting vilified for doing the right thing while everyone goes around attempting to enact their deepest, most secret death wishes?"

"Oh, cut the dramatics, Bennett. It's not a fucking death wish, it's just sensibility. Numbers—rational numbers. I'm one person, and—" he broke off, a sudden grin tugging at his lips and finally a hiccup escaping his lips as he could no longer contain doubling over in laughter.

Bonnie furrowed her brows, a concerned frown on her face. "What the hell is wrong with you? Did Klaus mess with your emotional responses too?"

"No, I just-" and without thinking, he commented, "Is this how Elena feels when everyone tries to shove her in the corner to save her from Klaus? Damn, no wonder she resents you all."

Bonnie looked down, and Tyler sobered to the reality of his comment. Even mentioning the eldest Gilbert's name struck a chord of regret with Bonnie lately. "Bonnie, I'm-" Tyler tried to apologize, his throat tight as Bonnie stared vacantly at the wall in front of her. "I'm an asshole, sorry. I just—wasn't thinking, I'm sorry."

Bonnie shrugged him off with a wave of her hand, "It's not your fault, it's just hard for me to think about her right now."

"It's not her fault, Bon, and you know it," Tyler declared adamantly. He moved to sit down and instinctually wrapped his arm around her shoulder, a move that caused her to turn so their sight lines were perfectly aligned. "Hell, I get why you don't like vampires, I do; it's embedded in your wiring, you just can't change the way they make your skin crawl, no matter who it's for." She widened her eyes in surprise, but did not speak. "You're not a worse friend for it, Bonnie, and that's just something nobody else is going to understand."

"You seem to understand it pretty well," she whispered.

"Well, consider me the anomaly," he joked with a broad grin.

"In more ways than one," she confessed with a chuckle. Tyler didn't move his arm, and Bonnie tucked her chin against the crook of his neck. It seemed to both of them slightly awkward in its unfamiliarity, but in no way unnatural, and the pleasant warmth it radiated throughout their bodies was too comforting to protest.

"What's that supposed to mean, Bennett?" He teased, lightly shoving his shoulder against her chest.

A light blush stained her cheeks as she answered, but her voice did not waver. "It's—well, to be honest, you were always such an asshole to us in school, and when Caroline started dating you, I was very _vocally_ against it. Okay, let's be honest; I hated you."

"What changed your mind?"

"Who says I changed my mind?" She fired back just as quickly. He raised his eyebrows in suspicion; was she flirting with him or was he reading far too much into this?

"You chose to save my pathetic life instead of vanquishing the Dark Lord, Bennett. It connotates some form of favoritism."

If anything, this just made her rose stained cheeks flair up further into hot coals of red flame.

"You're not such a douchebag anymore, I guess—don't read too much into it, Lockwood, I'm not harboring a secret crush on you or anything, we don't need to inflate your ego any more than it already is. _Oh God,_ don't give me that douchebag shit-eating grin or I swear I'll take back everything nice I've ever said about you—now, let's talk about that demon son of a bitch I just exercised out of your sorry ass."

Tyler's groan of displeasure was so over-exaggerated that Bonnie had to roll her eyes at his antics. "He was in control of my body, now he's not; what's to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about—what the hell are we going to tell everyone?!"

"Tell 'em all that Klaus is a fucking psychopath with nine-hundred lives, I don't know," Tyler sighed in exasperation. "Tell them anything you want, I don't care."

Bonnie shook off Tyler's embrace now and stood up, pacing back and forth with her forehead scrunched in thought. "We have to call them now—tell everyone, immediately; we have no idea what Klaus could be planning. He could be planning an attack on anyone, they all have t—"

"No," Tyler forcefully interrupted, "Dammit Bennett, stop pacing and listen to me for a second, you're giving me a migraine." This effectively stopped Bonnie in her tracks, but only to glare daggers at the one who interrupted her. "Frantically calling everyone in our Scooby-gang alliance is exactly what Klaus is expecting. Trust me, he's not pulling the moves on anyone until he assesses what he's up against, that's just how Klaus works." He huffed indignantly, put his arm behind his sore neck and shifted his body weight. "I didn't go through hell kicking that sire-bond bullshit to the curb and then go through the extra torture of having the bastard infiltrate my insides just to ruin my revenge with shitty strategy."

" _Shitty strategy_?" She mimicked back, more than a little hurt. "What's your big idea then, hot-shot? Tell, who, no one? … leave them all vulnerable to Klaus' games?"

"Exactly," he shot back proudly. At her dark look, he amended—"Alright, not _exactly._ But—what if we were to keep it from everyone?"

"Then we might as well stick a 'Team Klaus' flag hanging from our rooftop, kiss his ass and beg to switch sides because the likelihood of me doing _any_ of that nonsense is as plausible as your idiotic non-plan."

Tyler grabbed Bonnie's hand and pulled her flat up against his chest so she couldn't wiggle her way out and lowered his voice. "Klaus' defenses are down, he needs to re-build. Which means he'll need to reconvene with his hybrids, his witches—he'll need a plan of attack. To prevent it, we need to be the only ones who _know_ about it, Bonnie, I'm telling you. If we track our way into his inner circle, _by ourselves,_ we've got a better chance of killing it from the inside. We're not as strong as Klaus, we can't handle a direct attack; we have to stamp it out before it even garners power."

Bonnie's breathing stilled, and she was no longer struggling to get out of his grip. "And we can't do that as a group? Don't you think we'd be better as a united front?"

Tyler disregarded the suggestion easily. "Too many people to trust, too much can go wrong; too much liability. It needs to be just us." Bonnie tightened at this and Tyler probed with a cheeky smile, "What? You don't believe in us?"

"I believe you're capable of a lot more than anyone gives you credit for," Bonnie admitted softly.

"So invest in that—believe in me."

"I _want_ to—"

"So do it, Bennett. Problem solved. No over-analyzing. Just strategy. We'll start with his witches. You've got a commonality and trust me, they want to see him with power about as much as we do."

Tyler let go of her arms, but she didn't move away from him. She stayed huddled close to him and whispered, "We're really going to do this, take on Klaus, infiltrate his circle like a couple of rogue operatives?—"

"Are you scared?" He teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

She tilted her head so that their lips were mere inches away, and Bonnie sucked in a long, deep breath as Tyler watched the delicate rise of her chest.

"Bonnie? Tyler? You guys still here?" Jeremy's voice tore through the Gilbert house like a missile, and Bonnie and Tyler bolted away from each other immediately, falling back on the couch, a noticeably appropriate distance from each other.

"See, Bennett, I _told_ you he'd be home by curfew. You're really taking this whole mother-hen thing to a weird level, 'specially since he used to be your boyfriend," Tyler teased mercilessly, a cruel smile on his lips and no hint of the flirtatious, comforting grin that had only seconds ago enveloped the whole room. If Bonnie hadn't known better, she would've thought she'd dreamt the whole thing.

"She can be like that, man, just ignore it," Jeremy teased back, but with a quick, light smile in Bonnie's direction. He plopped himself right in between them and grabbed the remote, flipping through his TiVo, oblivious to the nearly palpable tension permeating the air. "So what are we thinking, guys—Shaun of the Dead, Saving Private Ryan or Game of Thrones? Oh, or an infinite collection of Friends re-runs, but those are Elena's…"

*****

Kol Mikaelson was—begrudgingly admitted, in Stefan's case—the most intoxicating enigma he could recall meeting in all the years of his life. On the one hand, he was a splash of colorful language and quick wit, drawing an easy parallel to Stefan's brother, but he suspected that this was only a sloppy mask designed to detract from a lurking vulnerability. Kol played the part to such immaculate perfection that it seemed as authentic as any, but Stefan was a close friend of deception and denial, and could sniff it out with ease. The youngest Mikaelson brother appeared as shallow as the quick jabs and hedonistic lifestyle that permeated his sinful scent, but Stefan's keen nose could dig further than that—could see something of a paradox in Kol Mikaelson. And it was this, above all else, that Stefan feared. Kol was a puzzle that tickled and lit a fire in his chest, begging to be solved. He nearly salivated at the thought.

There was a time, so long ago, when he'd lived for these kinds of people—a time when playing with his food had meant a pleasurable carousel of assessing the limits of a woman's treasured façade. He would get swept up in the thrill of it, equally enthralled by the blood pulsing underneath their hot, lively veins as he was by breaking down walls and defenses they never knew they had, pushing them to extremes embedded in the very core of their DNA, and then ripping their insides to bits when he could no longer find any other secrets to play with.

He refused to get swept up in Kol Mikaelson. _That_ person was long dead and buried, padlocked inside the dark caverns of his mind, and Kol Mikaelson was the closest puzzle to ever poise the threat of releasing the chains he'd spent so many years creating. Klaus had never fully unleashed the ripper of decades past; he'd simply forced a manufactured, hollow imitation of the bloodlust. The ugly truth of it was that the bloodlust was only the beginning.

The door opened ajar, only a sliver of an inch—just enough to peek inside, carefully concealing the identity of the intruder, but all three vampires turned instantly. "Mr. Salvatore?" The timid voice was soft and melodic, the detection of underlying nerves in its tone prickling the corners of Elena's new predatory instincts. She took a deep, slow breath and pried her eyes away from the tempting human.

Kol didn't seem to have the same idea. He was assessing the teenage boy with his head cocked in interest and an impish smile on his face. Unlike Elena, he didn't seem as enthralled by the blood pulsing beautifully underneath his veins, but rather by his unexplained presence.

"You called down for room service, Mr. Salvatore," the boy explained, unnerved by Kol's perplexing disposition. He held his ground, however, and kept his voice steady as he added, "I'm sorry it took so long, there was a mishap with some bags downstairs. Was there anything I could help you with, sir?"

The twitch of a smirk on Kol's face was enough for Elena to intervene before this boy ended up in the same position as the maid Kol had feasted on earlier—the one who was conveniently sprawled under the right side of the bed, out of view. "It's perfectly alright, we understand," Elena assured him with a sympathetic smile, hoping this would abate the tension of Kol's disconcerting advances. "My friend and I have made a long trip here, and we haven't eaten in hours. Could you please bring us a dinner menu?"

Kol's sudden bark of laughter rang through the room, echoing hauntingly through the silence left in its wake. "What an brilliantly splendid idea, Elena. Dinner sounds fabulous, I'm absolutely _famished_." With a few leisurely steps forward, he stood right in front of the boy, reaching out to brush a stray curl of blonde hair behind his ears, steady and confident, a lion stalking a meek gazelle before making a move. Elena tried to speak, but her throat was dry and her resolve weak, captivated by Kol's expert display of power. Kol put a finger to the boy's lips and slung an arm over his shoulder, his canines lengthening in preparation for the attack.

"Don't be greedy, Mikaelson," a familiar voice piped in from behind her, his pitch straddling the line of annoyed and amused; "You've already had your fill. Didn't your mother ever teach you to share?" Elena turned, startled to remember that Stefan was still there—she'd been so enveloped in Kol's intoxicating hunt that she'd nearly forgotten his presence.

Kol released his hold on the boy, Stefan's challenge too delicious to pass up. The boy was now making gasps of protest fueled by his newfound revelations, but Kol whispered threateningly, "Make another sound and I'll rip your head off your body. Wait patiently like a good little boy, won't you?" He threw his victim onto the bed and flashed face to face with Stefan, a snarl on his lips. "Well, Ripper of Monterey—please, show us humble servants what you've got up your sleeve."

Stefan ignored Kol's sarcastic jabs, hoisted the boy off the bed and locked eyes with him. "What's your name?"

"Gavin Frederick," and this time, his voice had lost all its soft intonation, leaving behind only the monotone drawl of compulsion. Stefan spared a glance at Elena, a small smile of reassurance etched into the curve of his lips.

"Hello Gavin, this is my friend Elena," he waved over to her in a sort of introduction; "Here's what's going to happen. You're not going to be afraid of us— _of any of us_ —" he broke off, his eyes lingering on Kol's shadow "—and you'll allow Elena to feed on your blood. Engage her in conversation, treat her like you would an old friend you haven't seen in years." Elena's eyebrows arched in surprise, but Stefan made no indication that he'd noticed. "Then, when she's feeding on you, I want you to yell and fight if you are feeling weak, light-headed, or about to pass out. If you feel none of these things, then you are to remain silent. Otherwise, give her whatever she needs."

Stefan released the bleary-eyed blonde, letting him collapse back on the bed. The profound relief in Elena's pale features was undeniable; she was looking from Stefan to Gavin in disbelief, gratitude—and, if Kol's suspicious were correct, a lingering excitement. "Take him in the washroom," Stefan instructed as he extended a hand to Elena, "You won't be disturbed; Mikaelson and I will wait just out here, and we'll intervene if we hear anything that sounds like you've gone too far."

The light in Elena's eyes changed abruptly from gratitude to something that both men had a very intimate relationship with— _hunger._ "Five minutes—"

"Seven," Kol lazily interrupted. He was flipping the television remote in one hand, a devious smirk on his lips. "What do you kids call it nowadays—'Seven Minutes in Heaven'? We'll call this the _refined_ version…"

Both of them looked at the eldest vampire in complete incredulity.

He shrugged languidly, shifting his legs to a more comfortable position. "The eighties entertainment industry is just so… charming," he quipped, seemingly unconcerned with their skepticism.

Elena grabbed Gavin's hand, her fingers twitching and apprehension written all over her face—

"Oh, and Gilbert?"

Kol's voice floated through the air with a perfected ease of nonchalance. "If you find yourself stuck, try catching him off guard in a position that allows you to physically dominate him; the predator gets off on seducing the prey in such a way, and it primes your instincts to prepare for the bite. Besides," he added, "your nature can no longer differentiate between actual appetite and sexual appetite. They simply—" he broke off, licking his lips, " _feed_ off each other."

"No pun intended?" Elena shot back heatedly.

Kol's lip quirked. "You're sick," she admonished, with a disgusted grimace set in her frown. Stefan looked like he wanted to add something, but Elena didn't give him the chance as she entered the en suite washroom, Gavin trailing behind her, glossy-eyed and obedient.

Stefan sighed, ran a hand through his hair and addressed Kol with a terse, stressed tone, "Are the mind games really necessary?"

"No mind games," Kol dismissed truthfully—"That's a very valid piece of advice, Salvatore. She'll figure it out. Now…" he patted the space on the bed next to him and reached over to grab something off the dining tray. "Let's _bond_ … get to know each other a little better. I got all this," he motioned to the elaborate spread of food, "from an Italian bakery a couple blocks down. I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."

Stefan raised an eyebrow in suspicion, and although he sat down on the bed, he made no move to get closer to Kol.

"Biscotti?" He proffered the treat to Stefan, a seemingly innocent gesture, and Stefan took it warily, staring at the closed door leading to the washroom in tense anticipation.

*****

She couldn't say she was surprised to find that the en suite washroom in such a high-brow hotel was impressive in its luxury, but if she'd been at all awed by the sights in the suite, she surely wasn't prepared for the washroom. The landscape was a far cry from what she was accustomed to—polished marble and rough stone adorning every square inch, tastefully decorated, with a huge soaker tub, enormous rain shower and faucets that she could swear were actual gold.

Gavin hoisted himself up on the marble countertop, took one look around and declared with an impish smile, "It's a little extravagant for my tastes."

She must've looked as taken aback as she felt because he quickly followed it up with a concerned frown, his tight blonde curls falling into his eyes. "Are you okay?"

And then she remembered Stefan's words—' _…engage her in conversation, treat her like you would an old friend you haven't seen in years.'_

Her limited experience with compulsion had led her to believe that, in every instance, the victim was turned into an obedient, monotone, zombie-like slave, but _this_ was very different. A good different, she supposed. It seemed that Stefan had carefully compelled this boy to act of his own free will—or some twisted variant of it—to make Elena more comfortable, and she felt a rush of appreciation towards Stefan for it, their previous grievance momentarily forgotten. She didn't think she could've gotten through this experience if she was meant to drink from some glossy-eyed zombie; hell, this was hard enough as it was.

Her throat was hoarse when she responded, "No, I'm fine." It was those full, plump lips, the shade of his blonde hair, those baby blue eyes—"You remind me of someone, y'know?"

He seemed to perk up at this, prodding, "A handsome someone?" with a warm, lopsided grin.

She laughed, lost in this quick, easy banter. She didn't think compulsion could ever be this easy, this simple—this _normal,_ but his resemblance to her first boyfriend certainly helped set her mind at ease. Tucking her hand behind her ear now in an awkward trepidation, she admitted, "I'm sorry, I'm _really_ new at this whole thing, and I—"

"Being a vampire?" He smoothly interjected.

She stared, startled. "Well, yeah—" she stuttered. "Doesn't that bother you? _It should bother you…"_ she muttered, more to herself than to him. Even dulled and manufactured free will was still compulsion, and she knew with certainty she would never be at ease with this. The ethical implications of what she was endorsing—well, she'd never have endorsed them just a few weeks ago. What had changed?

Oh, right. _Everything._

"Nah, I think it's cool," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Excuse me? You think it's—what?" He thought the fact that every fiber of her being was screaming at her to pounce and rip at his lovely, glistening skin to get to the beautiful, sustaining life source under it was—cool?! She suppressed the unnerving urge to bare her teeth at him and show him just how dangerous the situation he found himself in _actually_ was.

He shook his head, clearly reading her disbelief as something else entirely; "Not like… _Twilight_ vampires or anything—old school, y'know… Dracula, Lestat… the Lost Boys?" His question drifted into uncertainty as he saw the look on Elena's face.

Elena shook her head in disbelief. "Fictional vampires, Gavin. You can't even begin to imagine…"

His cheeks flushed pink at Elena's sharp, almost reprimanding tone. To Elena, it was clear evidence that no matter how confident he seemed to be in his assertions about vampires, he was still just a kid. He was just a kid who hadn't been through or witnessed the appalling things that she had, who still had more than a sliver of innocence left and who hadn't been forced to grow up way faster than anyone should just because of a ridiculous magical destiny sealed way before his time.

_God, when had she become such a cynic?_

'Maybe around the time you found out you weren't even human—just a magical means to an end, an entity created to be killed,' her conscience supplied in a tone so icy it chilled her to the bone.

She gazed into the mirror, digging her nails into her scalp in agitation. She stared intently at the curve of _Katherine's_ mouth, the distinct definition of _Katherine's_ nose, _Katherine's_ vibrant dark eyes that now just looked weary and dead.

"I feel like I've lost my identity," she laughed humorlessly; "If I even had a separate one in the first place…"

Gavin gingerly slipped down from the countertop, but was too nervous to approach her. "So… you regret becoming a vampire?"

"You can only regret _choices,_ Gavin," she whispered. "And I do, God knows I do… I have a myriad of choices to regret." She broke off, tears in her eyes. "But yes… I—"

She turned away from the mirror and the tears in her eyes hardened as she advanced on him; "It's _overwhelming,_ Gavin. I thought it was overwhelming before, but…" she broke off with a self-deprecating smile. "I was such an idiot, thinking that someday it'd get better. Someday, it'd just magically become _normal_ again. I'd be that girl again, the cheerleader. The fucking stupid, idealist cheerleader who didn't care—didn't _know_ —that there was a tomb full of rotting, desiccating vampires underneath the woods where she used to get smashed."

Without her noticing it, Gavin had steadily begun inching away from her until he had his back against the wall.

Elena plowed on, undeterred. "It was so simple _, life_ —compared to all this at least. Get married—to Matt probably—go to college, become a grade-school English teacher, publish a book if you're lucky, white picket fence, 2 and half kids, y'know… the cliché. A dog maybe, Matt loves dogs."

"But this…" her voice raised with every word she uttered and she hadn't even realized it; " _Death…_ I don't know how to do this! I've always known how to do things. Make a plan, have it blow up in your face, then put on a brave front for everyone else, assuring them that Klaus won't obliterate the world faster than an atomic bomb while you inwardly come up with a Plan B."

"Well, guess what?! Klaus is gone, dead—and God, I never thought I'd say this, but _I wish he wasn't_. You know why? 'Cause Klaus, I know how to deal with… I've figured it out. But vampirism… I never even entertained the idea that one day—" she choked out a sob, "—that one day I'd have to deal with this. Just kill Klaus… _just kill Klaus_ … that was the mantra. It'll all be over when you kill Klaus."

She was actively pinning him to the wall now, her hands suspending his arms above his head, their chests pressed together because she was so close.

"And all I can think about is how fucking delicious you smell—that's disgusting, I know, but… Damon was always ranting about humanity switches, so where the hell is it?! I can't find it and all I can feel is… _everything._ I feel everything, in vivid color. You know what I feel right now?" She asked, with an unconscious tilt of her head and a sly smile. "Your pulse… it's skyrocketed through the roof since I started talking… I just… one taste, that's it, I promise. It won't hurt. It won't hurt," she reiterated again, in a soothing tone.

Her teeth clicked into place, and she didn't take time to contemplate the weird sensation as she had done up to this point. Maybe it was becoming normal to her now… this weird new paradigm of _normal._

"I _need_ a plan, Gavin. Just a small one, just to give me a general idea of what to do. And right now, the only plan I have is to take your blood and run it along my tongue, to savor and revel in the beauty of the way it runs down your neck… is that…" her voice got quiet suddenly, meek and timid, "is that okay?"

"Take whatever you need, Elena," he said, his tone monotone, complacent. Elena was beyond the point of caring.

When her teeth pierced the skin, she was at once overwhelmed as the puncture in the vein caused the blood to seep out uncontrollably and she couldn't swallow all of it. It dribbled out the sides of her mouth, onto her chest, down to her shoes and pooled around her on the floor. That was her last coherent observation before her mind became drowned in the blood.

It was the most beautiful sin. She had witnessed her fair share of horrors over the past three years, but she'd never been on this side of it before. She'd never even contemplated how elating it felt—the sudden burst of ego, the control…

'Control is the greatest wonder, Elena. It is to be treasured, coveted…'

Yes, yes… _oh, God yes._

It slowly got easier to direct the blood flow so less of it was spilling and being wasted. Gavin started making whimpering noises, which steadily turned into louder cries of protest until he was actively fighting to get out of her grasp, his wrists bruised and red. It was the decrease in his pulse that finally snapped her out of it, and the moment she recoiled from him in terror the door banged open.

She looked at Gavin and down to her bloodied shirt in horror. '… _try catching him off guard in a position that allows you to physically dominate him'…_ Had she really just…?! Stefan immediately bit into his wrist and fed it to a slumped, barely conscious Gavin and Elena jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and gaped up at Kol who just gave her a knowing smile. It wasn't one of superiority, or amusement… it was almost _comforting_.

It was this thought that made her shrug him off in disgust.

"Elena…" Stefan approached her slowly.

"It's okay," she gasped, trying to regulate her breathing with some difficulty. "I stopped, before he… I stopped. On my own."

He smiled hesitantly, and put an arm around her shoulder. "I know you did, Elena. You did well, and I'm proud of you. Honestly." When Elena still looked apprehensive, Stefan sighed. "You stopped—that's all that matters. You know that, right?"

She nodded weakly, not sure if she knew that at all.

As she stripped her clothes off and changed in the suite while Stefan tended to Gavin in the washroom, however, she couldn't suppress the aching nausea clenching in her stomach when she looked down at the bloodstains on her discarded shirt.

Truth was, she could've stopped much earlier. But something inside of her _wanted_ to kill him, and it seemed far more vicious than just a vampire thirsting for blood. It didn't care about blood; it wanted something far more elusive— _power._ It wanted control over everything and everyone—herself included—and she had no idea how to stop it.

' _That's all that matters.'_

But was it really?

*****

Meredith Fell had never had the pleasure of seeing Carol Lockwood's face this shade of anxious purple before, but then, admittedly, she had also never experienced the fireworks that ensued when you got Damon Salvatore and Katherine Pierce in the same room together.

"—is a disgrace to the legacy of our founders, and simply the fact that he'd _suggest_ it is preposterous and clearly shows his lack of dedication and commitment to this council—"

"Oh, here we go again, Elena; certainly no one would dare question _your_ dedication…"

"Well, if you hadn't dodged the question with evasive, ambiguous answers tailored only to make stupid, inane innuendos—"

"Do you actually take pleasure in disparaging my character, Elena, or are you being paid by the hour?"

Her lips quirked in a taunting grin. "Well, Damon, you just make it so _easy…"_

The ash-haired man at the head of the table finally slammed his fist, his eyes ablaze with frustration. "Miss Gilbert, Mr. Salvatore—please leave your petty grievances at the door if you mean to be a valuable asset to this council. If not, I will have you both expelled from your positions immediately, is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Katherine answered in a perfect imitation of Elena's demure, respectful apology tone. "I hadn't meant to start an argument, I was merely questioning why Damon would suggest such a barbaric strategy. This council was founded on _some_ ground of ethical and moral principle, wasn't it? Shouldn't we be striving to maintain that? Otherwise, we'd be lowering ourselves to _their_ level, and losing the entire meaning of this organization."

"You'll have to forgive us, Mayor, we're going through a rather tumultuous personal matter right now. You see," Damon stressed, his intense blue eyes narrowed in on the most subtle twitches of Katherine's façade, "Miss Gilbert just recently ended her relationship with my younger brother, and it was a rather grizzly affair." Bingo. Katherine's eyebrows arched of their own accord, and her ears perked so subtly he was sure he was the only one who noticed. He could practically read her mind, and he had to stop himself from the self-satisfied grin that was itching at his lips.

"It was very messy, sir. Hearts were broken, ice-cream was devoured, but you're absolutely right, we shouldn't allow their immature teenage angst to affect our behavior in this institution," he paused, turned to Katherine, and with a sheepish smile, added, " _Should we, Elena?"_

To Katherine's credit, her façade didn't crack even slightly. "No, of course not. Damon's right, sir—we're very sorry for letting our personal affairs derail the discussion."

Lawrence Kingswood, interim mayor of Mystic Falls and long-standing member of the Founders Council, surveyed them both with disappointment. "Yes, well—personal matters are named as such for a reason. You're both adults now," he stressed a pointed look at Katherine, "…and we expect you to act in such a manner that emulates this maturity. Now, moving on… Edward, you had a subject to address?"

Katherine gingerly put her hands in her lap and turned her attention briefly to Damon. He had to hand it to her, the Elena impression was immaculate. It was eerie, if he was being honest. The way her narrowed soft brown eyes briefly flared up in righteous indignation before mollifying into a tranquil, attentive gaze as she turned her attention away from him was scary. It reminded Damon of a bygone age—a more innocent time, really, when Elena's quick-tongued jabs and taunts about his ethics and morals was the very foundation for their every interaction.

Katherine mirrored it perfectly, right down to the forlorn grimace on Elena's face when she was forced to accept an ironclad stalemate or, _occasionally_ —given that her tenacity to get in the last word was a genuine marvel—begrudging defeat. He couldn't help but wonder _how_ Katherine could have such unsettling insight, she wasn't even there.

Admittedly, he'd never seen Elena impersonate Katherine— _there's_ a thought _,_ he pondered with a laugh—but he was beginning to think there was more involved to Katherine's uncanny ability to mirror Elena's every behavior than just quick thinking and keen observation.

Edward Young, the pastor at the local church—not that Damon had ever attended, of course—rose to the stand to give an elaborate speech on… _something._ Just as he began blabbering on about provisions he was requesting for the protection of his church against heathens and demons, Damon nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise.

There was a soft but firm pressure pushing against his groin, and his eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. He glanced across the table to Katherine, expecting to find a devious smirk gracing her lips in an tenacious challenge, but he found that her eyes had never strayed from Pastor Young and his _riveting_ speech. In fact, she seemed entirely unaware of his incredulous stare.

The pressure only escalated now, and Katherine wiggled her toes just enough that his manhood responded in spades. _How the fuck had she flipped off her shoes without anyone noticing?_ Fully erect and sweat building on his brow, Damon was shocked silent, still staring. She finally noticed his intense glare, and shifted her body slightly— _oh dear god—_ to address him with furrowed brows and a genuinely innocent expression.

Damon was fully experienced with Katherine's skilled sexuality, and it was of no surprise to him that she could affect more with one foot than most girls could with their mouth, but doing it under a table full of respected elders who regarded her as a chaste young woman of barely eighteen without the slightest hint of a tell?! How on earth…

"Is there a problem, Damon?"

Carol Lockwood's innocent question exposed Damon's discomposure as he squeaked out a barely audible, "Problem?" as Katherine's foot trailed delicately upward and took up permanent residence in his lap, her heels gently pressing into his balls. "None whatsoever, Carol," he asserted, his voice only slightly stronger than before.

Kingswood sighed, his displeasure radiating off his demeanor in waves. "I'm going to adjourn this very scattered and inefficient meeting and by next time we gather, I expect a more _fluid and productive_ agenda… perhaps, one without interruption. Miss Gilbert, Mr. Salvatore… next time you enter these halls, I expect that your differences will be sorted out. Otherwise, do not bother to attend. The rest of you, thank you for coming. Your dedication to the cause is not something that goes unnoticed."

Damon grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, not sparing one glance at Katherine, and rushed out before Carol Lockwood could grab a word with him about some inane charity event or god forbid another eligible bachelor auction—you never knew with that woman.

But, as per usual, he found Katherine jovially trotting in step with him within moments of leaving the building. He turned to her reluctantly, a sigh escaping his lips. Her exaggerated pout was an old, tired game he was beginning to see in his sleep.

"Aw Damon, the big, forceful man scolded us." A delicious grin spread across her lips; "Comfort me?"

"I'm awfully sorry for making a scene in there, _Elena,"_ he teased pointedly; "I didn't mean to cramp your style."

As they were rounding a corner, he found himself backed against the dark crevices of a back alley wall, and she stood on her toes to give him a light kiss to the lips. "I get it now… you and Elena, I mean. Fighting over morals and ethics, righteous indignation versus sardonic quips. I never thought I'd give _her_ any credit, but damn, it's _hot."_

Damon gulped, not entirely unaffected by the rough grit in her voice. "I don't do pity fucks, Katherine, and neither do you. If you're in heat, go compel yourself a nice out-of-towner." With a rough grasp on her wrists, he added, "And _stay there."_

"You really want me to leave?"

"Since the moment you arrived…"

"Now, we both now _that's_ not true," she laughed, quick and tight; "I would say 'kiss me or kill me' again, but you've never had a problem with memory before."

"C'mon, Damon… one little kiss and I'll let you go. If it escalates, we'll take it from there. If it doesn't, I won't bother you again."

Damon's breathing was erratic and her hands were hot against the bare flesh of his taut stomach. "Why don't I believe that last part?"

"Because despite my best efforts to prevent it, you know me a little _too_ well."

Hmm, finally… some honesty.

He leaned in and gave her the most chaste peck on the lips that he could muster, but she pulled him in closer the moment he leaned back, deepening the kiss, roaming one hand under his shirt and up his chest and the other through his impeccably styled hair. He groaned into her mouth, overtaken by a wealth of emotions he didn't know—didn't _acknowledge_ —that he had for this woman.

"I feel like I'm kissing Elena," he spoke when they broke apart, trailing his gaze down from her flat-ironed hair to her worn keds.

Katherine gave him a curious glance and stepped back slightly; "That's bad, why? I thought you'd get all hot and bothered by the prospect… don't you have it bad for everyone's favorite princess?"

The gleam in her eyes was different than anything he'd ever seen before— _hope,_ genuine, authentic hope—"Does that mean you'd rather be kissing me?"

"Am I interrupting something?" Both of them immediately separated, glaring in synch at the blonde standing poised and amused in the shadows.

"Only my peace of mind, blondie," Damon quipped.

Katherine came straight to the point. "What do you want, Rebekah?"

"Just a chat, Kat—y'know, girly stuff." She gave a pointed glare at Damon and crossed her arms, "That's your cue to leave, Damon."

Damon wasn't getting in the middle of this cat fight—he'd made a concentrated effort to avoid all the Originals lately and he wasn't going to stick his neck out on the line for Katherine. She could more than handle herself. Sending Katherine a cautious glance, he started walking towards the nearest bar—he needed a stiff drink, pronto.

"Walk with me, Kat," Rebekah extended her hand innocently.

Katherine scoffed; "Never call me that, bitch. And why should I, exactly?"

"Because I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse," Rebekah proffered with a wolfish grin usually sported only by her late brother.

"The Godfather?" Katherine teased scathingly.

"Excuse me?" Rebekah asked, offended and perplexed.

_Right. Daggered for a whole century._

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Rebekah," Katherine declared adamantly, "So tell me what the hell you're propositioning or we're done here."

The blonde didn't seem deterred in the slightest. In fact, she looked positively gleeful. Whatever she had up her sleeve, she was definitely certain it would shake Katherine down to her boots.

"I want you to report to me on everything the Salvatores do—concerning your doppelganger, concerning my family, concerning who they speak to and why—"

"In return for what?" Katherine bit back, disgusted by Rebekah's gall.

Rebekah smiled ominously, "Refuge from my family—a blood oath that not only will we leave you alone, but you'll be protected in the name of the Mikaelsons wherever you decide to go."

Oh, Rebekah's self-satisfied smirk definitely was sure she had shocked Katherine stiff. The truth was much different. Katherine was eerily quiet before she answered, pensive and reflective.

"Klaus is dead."

"Those loyal to him are not… make no mistake, Miss _Petrova_ , if you don't entertain my allegiance, his witches and my family will make _a meal_ out of you," she snarled viciously.

Katherine stared down Rebekah, assessing the true motivation behind this sudden proposition. Truthfully, she was considering it. A blood oath was the most powerful and binding magic two vampires could preform—it was ironclad, no room for devious tricks.

Ice blue flashed before her eyes; dark, artfully mussed hair; a salacious smirk that twitched off the side of full, pink lips…

"I won't be your puppet, Rebekah," Katherine declared emphatically, her eyes ablaze with fire; "Fuck off." And with that, she turned on her heel and left the blonde gaping in her wake. Katherine couldn't quite blame her. She had just turned down freedom _and_ protection for the rest of her life, and for what exactly?

'He's a weakness, Katerina. Cut him loose _,'_ her conscience supplied.

She shook her head and rubbed her forehead of the stress. She needed to find a tasty, attractive man to swap fluids with— _pronto._

Back in the alley, Rebekah whipped out her phone and texted:

**09/14/12**

8:53 p.m.

' _She didn't bite.'_

A minute later, her phone buzzed with a response, and she grinned.

**09/14/12**

8:55 p.m.

' _She wasn't meant to, darling. It was only meant to get her guard up. It served its purpose.'_

*****

Stefan Salvatore was at a loss of what do about Kol Mikaelson. The intriguing ash-blonde haired Original was now sprawled out, asleep on the comfortable four-poster bed, the sheets luxury silk and worth more than his car. Gavin was healed and asleep on a chaise in lounge and Elena was taking a shower in the washroom.

It would be far easier to deal with Elena's struggle right now if he wasn't so consumed by what Kol was thinking, his next move, his bare chest…

Elena came out of the washroom with a towel wrapped tightly around her chest and stopped short when she saw Stefan standing perplexed over Kol's sleeping form.

"I thought you were asleep," she admitted sheepishly.

"You should know I don't tend to sleep much," he lightly quipped.

"Stefan, look—I wanted to… thank you," Elena said with a light blush staining her cheeks. He had just watched her rip apart a defenseless kid with sharp fangs and an even sharper hunger and yet, her innocence and beauty had never shone so brightly to him before.

"Thank me?" He echoed, genuinely perplexed. "For what, exactly?"

"For making me do this… for pushing me out of my comfort zone. I needed it, and you were right—I never would've learned any sense of control hunting animals in a park somewhere."

"So you're not still mad about…" he trailed off, uncharacteristically awkward.

Her lips quirked into a disconcerting, humorless smirk. "Oh no, I'm still furious about that. Believe me, I won't be getting over that so quickly. You really helped me out, with Gavin… with acclimating to this, but…" her voice lowered to an acidic bite that Stefan had never heard from Elena before and it sent a chill down his spine, "If you _ever_ try to control my freedom at your whim and fancy, despite your reasons, I'll make sure you regret it. Got it?"

Stefan nodded, ashamed by his actions and startled by her fierce tone of voice. They both stared at each other for a moment, as if assessing this new stage in their relationship, and neither one of them heard the buzzing of Kol's phone that had fallen under the bed.

*****

Elijah slammed the phone down and it smashed into tiny pieces on the curve of the bar. Matt was still looking deathly pale and shaken by the sudden shift in Elijah's manner. He had never seen the calm, composed Original so shaken or so furiously angry.

"Grab your coat, Matt. We're going to Philadelphia."

" _We_?" Matt croaked out, stunned.

_The son of a Five hunter? He's indispensable._

"Would you do anything to save Elena's life, Matt?"

"Absolutely," Matt answered, this time his tone strong and conviction secure.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, surveying the truth in Matt's statement, before he reiterated, his voice cold and resolute; "Then _grab your coat._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note #1** : For some reason, I really love Meredith Fell. I know that's not a hugely popular opinion, but I do. She's the only person I will begrudgingly ship Damon with other than Kat (not in this story, obviously) and she'll be making periodic appearances for the first half of this story and then obtain a larger role in the second half.
> 
> **Note #2** : I know I've been teasing the Kol & Stefan bonding experience where they discover a commonality they never would've guessed they had for a long time now, but I swear it's the very first scene in the next chapter. It just didn't fit into this one, sorry.
> 
> Alright guys, I know exactly where we're going now, so updates are going to be a lot faster due to the fact I'm so damn excited. Trust me, the next two chapters are going to be a whirlwind rollercoaster no one is going to see coming.
> 
> **Next Up** : Kol and Stefan bond over a commonality neither one of them would've guessed they had, Damon and Katherine's dance comes to a surprising head and things in Philadelphia take a dramatic turn when a group of dedicated and vicious witches go after the newest doppelganger. Will Elijah get there in time? The answer might not be as obvious as you'd expect. ;)
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with this. I'm forever indebted.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : The classes I've chosen for school this semester are especially difficult-it's been kicking my ass. Apparently, I'm a masochist.
> 
> I don't want to spend too long yapping before this chapter, but I do have two things to address before we start.
> 
> One of my lovely reviewers, JMHUW, has this pesky (read: awesome) habit of pointing out flaws in my story or things that I forgot to mention. No really, I say pesky jokingly but it keeps me on my toes, so my deepest thanks for that.
> 
> First thing: One of your reviews reminded me of something I should've addressed last chapter and didn't, but I'm going to address it now. Firstly, as you will find out very shortly in this chapter, Elena does not know that Kol is her sire. Secondly, concerning Elena & Kol's sire bond (or lack thereof), it's not conventional in the way the show addressed sire-bonds. Elena has no inherent desire to please Kol; she couldn't give a rat's ass what Kol thinks about what she does. The way the sire affects the new vampire is a bit more complicated. The sire's natural predilections or habits influence their new vampire's actions in a way that isn't always overtly obvious, but becomes more outwardly obvious as time goes on. This may seem a little confusing right now, but as the chapters continue, I'm hoping that it'll be a little clearer, and I will have the characters discuss it eventually in-story as well.
> 
> Second thing: I made a grave error, and JMHUW was the only one who noticed it. I'm not going to make excuses or try to come up with some reason that I didn't mention it, I'm going to be very frank here. I forgot about Elena's daylight ring. Just completely went over my head with all the other things I've been planning. So, that said, I'm going to go back and edit/mention it in the Jeremy & Elena scene in Ch. 3 so we have that all squared away. Again, I'm sorry. It was a huge lapse in judgment.
> 
> So special thank you to JMHUW this chapter for pointing out my mistakes and please, please continue to do so.
> 
> With that, I won't keep you any longer. Enjoy. :)

Elena was watching him in rapt contemplation, relishing in the slight twitch in his cheek that gave him away. She smirked, fiddling with the cards in her hand effortlessly as he attempted to hold up his mask. All anxiety forgotten, Elena was thoroughly enjoying herself. She hadn't played a single hand of poker since her father was alive, and she had nearly forgotten the ecstasy and adrenaline surge that came with correctly reading a good hand. Most 'Gilbert Family Game Nights' of bygone years had consisted of herself, Jeremy and her father locked in a battle of wits while her mother moaned about how she wanted to play Monopoly. She even used to have a running 'study' date with Matt and Tyler on Wednesday afternoons where they'd secretly play poker in the dark corners of the Mystic Falls high school library with different coloured erasers.

Gavin was a little inexperienced in the game, clearly, and although he bore a strange resemblance to her ex-boyfriend, he didn't play like him. Elena could read just about anybody based simply on the steadiness of their gaze and the consistency of their body language, but Matt had always been her strongest opponent. He never kept one strategy for longer than a few hands, and he could hold stone-faced eye contact with her for hours and never falter.

The younger boy was an easy read, though—she'd raised pre-flop with pocket Queens and he'd called immediately. He'd placed small continuation bets on the flop and the turn to which she'd called, hoping to capitalize on her straight-draw, but she'd busted on the river. Now, granted, given the way Gavin had played the hand and the fact there was very little he could have better than a pair with the cards on the table, it was likely her Queens could hold up.

In a stark contrast to his previous conservative raises, he now raised three times the size of the pot on the river, which made Elena narrow her eyes at him in assessment. It seemed simple—he was bluffing, he wanted the hand. But his facial expression told her a different story. He didn't want her to fold, he was goading her into calling so he could get more bang for his buck. She didn't know what he had, but it was clear that it was better than what she did.

As she threw her cards into the muck face-up, he swore under his breath and gave her a sheepish smile as he revealed his two Jacks for trips. "You're good at this, you know that? That was a pretty incredible fold."

She shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips, "I've had practice."

"I've got to say, I'm surprised," another voice drawled out in a smooth laugh as he rounded the corner and sat down on the chaise. "You're a terrible liar—doesn't that sort of indicate you'd be rubbish at poker?"

Elena raised an eyebrow at Stefan, amused instead of offended. "I read people really well; I don't need to lie at all if I can catch someone else lying first."

It had only been a brief smile, but the warmth in Stefan's eyes as they locked with Elena's did not go unnoticed by Gavin, who was watching the pair with unbridled interest. "Are you two dating?" He blurted out suddenly, and the pair turned to the younger boy, startled by the abrupt question.

"I, well—" Elena fumbled for the right words, but lapsed into silence almost immediately.

There was an unspoken consensus between the two of them—they both knew that the most accurate answer was no, but neither of them quite had the heart to vocally admit that such a huge, defining part of their lives had ended.

Seeing the tension he'd caused, Gavin quickly amended, "It's complicated—got it," he started shuffling the cards awkwardly; "I didn't mean to pry, it's none of my business."

But it _wasn't_ complicated, and perhaps that was the problem. When it _was_ complicated—this whole past year, in and out of death threats and ripper binges—at least there was hope, a light at the end of the tunnel. Something to strive for. Now the only thing to strive for was saturated in murky ambiguity. Even from the very moment they'd met, there had always been underlying attraction. They were great at being together—in some ways, they were too good at it. Now that they weren't actively together, they had no idea how to be Stefan and Elena without being _Stefan and Elena._ It was dangerous, uncharted waters they were sifting through now, and they had to learn to adapt to a new dynamic quickly if they wanted this friendship to sustain.

It was hard to adjust to being _any_ thing to someone when you only ever knew how to be _every_ thing.

Stefan cleared his throat, stood up, and with an expertly convincing smile, joked, "Go easy on her, Gav. Don't take all her money—she's paying for gas on the way back."

Elena watched him retreat back into the bedroom with a sense of uneasiness she couldn't properly describe. He seemed lighter lately—happier, effortless, unencumbered by doubts or worries—but she could see the struggle reflected in his eyes. He was just as uncomfortable with the situation as she was, but he was putting a valiant effort into appearing carefree. And what was she doing? Overanalyzing tones of voice, discerning the meaning of brief glances and gestures and fretting over a relationship that was long gone.

She looked down at the cards Gavin had just dealt—(Jack, Four; off-suit) and threw three dollars into the pot with a sly smile in Gavin's direction. If Stefan could bluff, so could she.

*****

"Let's get down to the real reason you're here—what are you trying to pull?"

Stefan had marched up to Kol just as he was finishing off a mug of Kahlua, determination in the arch of his back and resolve in the glint of his eyes. Kol smirked, set his mug down, and ignored the question. "What are the doppelganger and her meal doing?"

" _Elena_ and Gavin are playing poker," he responded dismissively, his jaw muscles tight; "Don't evade the question. What are you _doing_ here?"

Kol arched an eyebrow. "Poker? Never dubbed Gilbert as the type. If I had known, I would've arranged this lesson in a casino. Ah, well…" he trailed off, a wry smile on his lips, "Next time, eh?"

"There will be no 'next time', Mikaelson— _I'm_ teaching Elena and you don't even _like_ Elena. Now, I want to know what you're doing here and what makes you think you have any right to be here."

"Touchy," Kol teased with a glint of mirth in his eyes. It quickly mollified and faded as he sighed in resignation and motioned to the bed, "Take a seat, Salvatore."

When Stefan resolutely remained firmly where he was, Kol rolled his eyes. "Look, this might come as a bit of a shock to you, and you'll most likely have questions that I won't feel like answering. Just sit the fuck down."

Kol's direct command came in stark contrast to his witty evasions, and Stefan sat more out of curiosity than any acknowledgment of authority. The elder vampire's back was rigid, his eyes dark and hollow. There was a twitch of a smile on his lips, a smile that reminded Stefan of someone else—a small gesture that filled your heart with a million questions that you feared all the answers to. It made his stomach lurch just thinking about how much it mirrored Katherine.

"The blood Fell used to turn Elena—it was mine." Kol's snarky evasions were, admittedly, their own unique brand of frustrating, but even that couldn't compare with the dread and horror that filled Stefan's lungs when Kol was being direct. There was trepidation in Kol's dark eyes that made them softer, more expressive.

"Why?" Stefan voiced, his words a whisper and his throat constricted.

"Why _what?"_ Kol bit back, annoyed. "Why didn't I tell you? Why did Meredith not tell you? Why was it _my_ blood?" With a sarcastic smirk, he added, "Or why did I stoop so low as to fuck her for information?"

Stefan's brows furrowed. "What information?"

Kol seemed to realize he'd said something he hadn't meant to and backtracked quickly. " _That's_ why I'm here, Salvatore. Elena is one of mine—if anyone is meant to be teaching her anything, it's me."

Sparing a glance towards the other room, Stefan said, "Are you going to tell her?"

"Eventually."

"And what's to stop me telling her first?"

Kol did not even bristle at Stefan's challenge—"Nothing," he admitted truthfully, "But she's volatile—her emotions are all over the place. She just had her first feed, she's on a high and she's a ticking time bomb; you should remember what that feels like. Do you really _want_ to tell her right now?"

Having expected Kol to rattle off ambiguous evasions to the question, Stefan was more than a little shaken. During that brief ten minutes at the hospital when he'd suspected that the blood used to turn Elena was Damon's, he was anxious enough as it was. At the time, he hadn't wanted to give Kol the satisfaction of knowing he'd made his point, but Stefan clearly remembered a girl he and Lexi had known in the '40s—a British girl navigating the harsh and foreign landscape of New York City, Natalie Francis. Lexi, of course, took pity on the frantic, worried new vampire and only later did Stefan find out the true motivations behind his friend's actions. Lexi had known the man that turned Natalie, a bloodthirsty, vicious killer by the name of Andre that scoured the expanse of Europe, raping, pillaging and destroying entire towns in his wake.

As time went on, it became obvious that Natalie was affected by her sire's natural predilections. They would find her unconscious next to hordes of piled up bodies with no recollection of how she ended up there, and eventually, her sloppy feeding habits were too much for Lexi to control. Natalie was burned at the stake by a group of ravenous vampire hunters, and Stefan and Lexi only narrowly escaped with their lives. That experience had been the final wake-up call for Stefan; if he were to fall back into his bloodthirsty habits, he was going to end up like Natalie—afraid, alone, ashamed and an easy target for the vindictive hunters.

The last time he ever took a drink of human blood was twenty minutes before Natalie died, having ripped into the jugular of a man who was only a meter short of jamming a stake in Lexi's heart. That trend continued for 63 years, up until the night that Elena had forced her wrist into his mouth to keep him alive.

So when Kol's words echoed mercilessly in his head—' _For who knows what kind of ruthless and monstrous vampire sweet little Elena could've been made from?'_ —it was with a poignant message that Stefan didn't need telling twice.

Only problem was, Stefan had no idea what kind of vampire Kol was. Granted, he didn't seem to give much credence to human life, and he clearly savored and relished the hunt without a twinge of regret, but he didn't seem the type that was dangerously out of control, which was at the very least, a small comfort. On the other hand, it was overwhelmingly obvious that he enjoyed stirring up havoc simply for the love of chaos.

"Can I ask you a question?" The words were out of Stefan's mouth before he'd even wrapped his brain around the idea, but Kol's slightly shifted body language clearly indicated intrigue. "What did you do to get daggered by Klaus?"

A twitch of a wry smile appeared on Kol's face, and then, a boisterous laugh quickly followed. His eyes were dancing with mischief when he answered—"I slept with Katerina Petrova." The words were so simple, and Kol's deadpanned intonation only added to Stefan's shock.

Keenly aware of the irony that it was _this_ piece of information that surprised him the most, Stefan stuttered, "You— _Katherine?!"_ He had so many questions, but the only one he could voice was a weary, "Why?"

Kol almost looked affronted at the insinuation that he needed a reason. "I enjoy pissing my brother off, and so does she. It was mutually beneficial. You fucked her too, didn't you? Why'd _you_ do it?"

Stefan responded immediately, a sneer on his lips just thinking of Katherine—"Because I didn't _know_ her—she was pretty, she was interesting, and she was something that I wanted to show my father I could achieve." Taking a deep, steady breath, he added in a low, dangerous tone—"If I knew what she was capable of, I'd have never touched her."

Sensing there was more to the story, Kol's voice became slightly softer. "Can I ask _you_ a question?"

A resigned sigh on Stefan's lips, he reluctantly conceded. "I don't guarantee I'll answer."

"Why do you hate her so much?" Kol put a hand up to silence Stefan's immediate rebuttal, and continued, "I get it, I get it—she forced you to turn against your will, she played you and your brother like a fiddle, she stole your humanity, woe is me, life is horrible and what have you." A knowing smirk spread across his lips now, "But there's more to it than that, _isn't there?"_

Stefan opened and closed his mouth in a defeated sigh. He couldn't believe he was contemplating this. No one knew the real truth behind his disdain for Katherine—not Lexi, not Elena, not Damon, _no one._ In a way, that made telling Kol—a neutral, uninterested party—all the more appealing. He'd been carrying this burden around with him for a hundred and forty-six years and he'd never even given a second thought to divulging it. Maybe if he had, it wouldn't still have such a gut-wrenching grip around his heart.

"I was arranged to be married as a human—Rosalyn Cartwright; she was a little wisp of a girl, too absentminded to hold an engaging conversation and dreadfully boring." With a pensive frown, he admitted, "I suppose that's what was so intriguing about Katherine at first. I felt chained to a life with a girl I could hardly stand, let alone tolerate, and I would do anything to convince my father that someone else would do— _anyone_ else."

Stefan took the half-empty mug of Kahlua and knocked the rest of it back in one swig, his fingers wringing together with nerves. Vocalizing the _backstory_ was the easy part—this was about to become much harder, and he felt the instinctive dry ache in the back of his throat close up that little bit more.

"Rosalyn knew she was losing me to Katherine, and while she wasn't an especially forward girl, she did have a determination to please her parents like no other, and losing a Salvatore would be a devastating blow on their house. I was drunk after a nasty fight with my father, and she took advantage of my vulnerability. I suppose her thought was along the line that if she fell pregnant, I'd have to marry her immediately before anyone could find out or it would bring a scandal upon both of our families. She knew I would never do that to my father."

He took a sharp inhale of breath, and avoided eye-contact with Kol as he admitted the rest of it. "Three weeks after we had sex, she arranged to meet me by the falls to tell me that she was pregnant. She was positively gleeful about it, having finally secured me into a life I didn't want." He gripped the glass hard, his fingerprints leaving indents on the rim, "But that's not the end of the story," he spat out with a heavy dose of scorn. "Four hours later, Rosalyn was found dead out in the woods—mauled by a ravenous animal, just like Mr. Collins the week before."

With a shaky voice, he continued, a sob in the back of his throat, "Katherine killed her. She admitted it to Damon the night it happened. But Damon never knew the whole truth—she didn't just kill Rosalyn, she killed _my unborn child."_

A vicious, malicious glint shined in his eyes, mixed with a gleam of unshed tears.

Ignoring—or perhaps, not seeing—the pale shade of Kol's face, he asserted, "And she knew. I know she did. I spent years— _decades—_ afterwards finding pregnant women and feeding on them—experimenting with the sound of the baby's heartbeat, trying to figure out if there was even a _chance_ that she didn't know."

Kol's voice was a shocked whisper—the first sign of something amiss—"It's possible that she didn't know. You were _looking_ for the heartbeat, Katerina might not have even been aware it was there. If her true aim was merely to kill the girl and not feed on her, it could've happened quick enough for the heartbeat to go undetected."

Stefan stared incredulously, furious. "Why are you _consoling_ me?! What the fuck do you care about my unborn child, Mikaelson?"

Kol took a deep breath, a forlorn frown on his face, "I can relate—"

Stefan stood up now, a vicious snarl on his lips. "Oh, can you now? I can't wait to hear this twisted up lie, so let's have it. _How_ can you relate, Mikaelson? Did you kill someone's unborn child too?"

"Fuck you, Salvatore," Kol asserted powerfully, his voice deadly. "Fuck you for thinking you know a goddamn thing about me; you seem to have me all pigeonholed in a nice, simple box for you to categorize your friends from your foes. _Nothing_ is that black and white, Salvatore, and no _one_ is that straightforward. You think because I don't take anything seriously that nothing _is_ serious to me, well—you're sorely mistaken."

Not even taking a breath, he launched into an explanation that left Stefan stunned—"I was married to my best friend when I was a human; I cared about her greatly. There were _many_ men in our village who would've taken advantage of her had I left her vulnerable, so I married her myself. She was _seven months pregnant_ with my child—my wife, my best friend, the only person besides my family I would've laid down my life for—and _everyone knew it._ The night we became vampires, my mother killed her. She…" Kol broke off now, a choke in his throat, "didn't want any loose ends," he finished, a bitter scowl on his face.

"If Nik hadn't gotten to her first, I would've done far more than rip her heart out," Kol asserted with a sharp, venomous bite.

The silence was deafening, the slightest muffled sounds of Elena and Gavin laughing bleeding through the space between them. Kol's face was a beet red hue and his fists were clenched tightly—Stefan had never seen such raw, gritty emotion on the face of the youngest Mikaelson brother.

He hesitated only a fraction of a second before he asked in a quiet, hushed whisper—"What was her name?"

Kol's lips parted, clearly shocked by the question. His anger dissipated slightly, his fists unclenched and fell back at his sides, and a wistful sigh escaped his lips—"Huyana." The name was spoken with so much affection, and Kol's emotional disposition startled Stefan into silence.

After a long pause in which they both just stared, assessing each other, the secrets they had just spilled forth heavy and tangible between them, Stefan spoke, "I'm sorry."

Kol's eyes glistened with wet emotion—tears or gratitude?—and the urge to return the sentiment was a heavy weight on his heart when suddenly, their eyes were forcefully torn from each other—

For in that exact moment, the door blasted off its hinges and smashed violently through the grand bay window on the opposite wall.

*****

He didn't want to smile while he read this. In fact, he wanted to scowl in derisive contempt, throw it in the garbage and forget about all the unsettling implications derived from this beguiling puzzle. But, apparently, he had no control over his jaw muscles, as he was grinning like a love-struck buffoon as he read the scribbled, cursive remarks of Katherine's impromptu and puzzling gift.

That was the thing, though—there was nothing _impromptu_ about it. Every note, connection and insight written in these tightly bound pages was thoughtful, thorough and decidedly nuanced. There was real _effort_ put into this, and that was undoubtedly the most bewildering part of it all. Katherine clearly spent _time_ drawing conclusions and creating inferences about the influence the Count's outlook on life, justice and revenge had on a young, spirited Confederate soldier's descent into the murky waters of an undead eternity.

Without looking up, he commented with a throaty chuckle, "I'm starting to think you're stalking me. Should I get a restraining order?"

Katherine was leaning against the open door, the slight September breeze blowing through her hair. The porch light was out and the parlor room candles were extinguished, the only light coming from shadows emitting off the moonlight outside. With an uncharacteristically bashful smile, she laughed, "I hardly think that's necessary. Do you feel at all victimized by my presence?"

Damon couldn't resist the smirk that tugged at his lips as he turned to look at her, "Always."

Not giving her time to decipher his movement, he sped over to her, blocking her against the doorframe, his arm holding her hands in place. The book that had previously been in his lap fell discarded to the floor with a resounding thud, a heavy mist of dust emitting from its pages.

He was well aware that she was only _allowing_ this temporary physical dominance because she was curious— _always_ insatiably curious—about what he was aiming to achieve, but he relished in the illusion that he finally had some power over _her,_ that she was the one with the feeble questions and he was the one with all the answers.

Tucking a lock of curly hair behind her ear, he nibbled on the soft skin of her neck, and whispered—a low, predatory purr, "So you think you I'm delusional, mhm?"

"Dis _illusioned_ ," she corrected with a wry smile, easily breaking her right hand out of his grip and stroking his face gently with her fingernails, "trapped in a vicious circle of twisted vengeance, cruelly subjected to your own warped reality…"

Damon stared at her incredulously. If it had been disconcerting _reading_ it, it was downright stunning _hearing_ it. Attempting to retain his illusion of indifference, he let out a roguish laugh; "You make it sound so goddamn miserable; let me tell you, Kat, _dear_ —" he proffered a wolfish grin, "I've had a _lot_ of fun along the way."

"You're cute," she smirked as she patted his cheek affectionately.

" _Cute?!"_ He repeated, affronted.

"Yes," she deadpanned, "Cute—also sometimes referred to as adorable, endearing… it's a compliment, darling."

His confidence swelling at the disarming way she was flirting with him, he knew there was a chance here to shake her incessant, unbreakable bravado. "Y'know, you've been so busy psychoanalyzing _me_ —I'd be remiss if I didn't graciously return the favor."

Her eyebrows raised in interest. "Oh? Give it your best shot, Damon—I'm not nearly as transparent as you are."

"You're bored," he asserted flippantly, "Klaus is gone, no one is hunting you, you're drifting along hopelessly looking for stimulation—and trust me, I'm flattered that you picked _me_ to stalk—and perhaps, you're even searching for _purpose."_ He sneered at her, thoroughly enjoying her discomposure; "What _is_ your purpose without Klaus, Katherine? Or is _your_ entire undead eternity been wrapped up in one man? What are you without a suitcase to live out of and a plan to concoct, or better yet— _who_ are you? Katherine Pierce, master manipulator… _without anything to manipulate."_

He released his grip on her other hand and stepped back, a satisfied grin on his face, "Isn't that about right, Kat?"

Katherine flipped them around without a moment's hesitation, her fangs bared in warning, a rare but fierce glimpse behind her façade of casual indifference—"Check who's in charge here, Damon—because it's not you. It'll _never_ be you."

He grinned a patronizing smile. " _Ooh,_ did I hit a nerve?"

Even when she was shaken and discomposed, she still managed to stun him—with a swift move of her leg, she brought her knee to press up against his crotch, and pressed her lips against his in a fierce, dominant caress. He reacted immediately, threading one hand through her hair and using the other to pull her top off, his body powerless to avoid its addiction to her slick, hot skin. He trailed his tongue between the valley of her breasts and she quickly kicked the door shut behind them.

"This is just sex," she breathed out in a muffled pant, quiet, lacking conviction—as if she didn't believe her own words.

"Isn't it always with us?" There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, but they were both too entrenched in a lustful haze to decipher any meaning behind it.

She was pressing him up against the heavy, oak door, her hands expertly tugging his belt buckle off and pulling his pants down to his ankles. He could sense something off in her touch, however—her movements were rushed, frantic, as if he might disappear if she closed her eyes. Sex was always an artful construct for Katherine—she was methodical, took her time to extract every morsel of pleasure from a given activity. Right now, however, she was frenzied, disheveled— _real._ He'd loved her from the very beginning of their acquaintance, but he had never seen such a vision before. He had never seen her so raw and truthful before—no facades, no schemes, just a lot of _want._ Passion, he decided. There was fire in her eyes, passion in her heart—for _him._

It was all he ever wanted. It was more than he'd ever dreamed of. But… it was disconcerting. After all these years, after all they'd been through—could he allow himself to fall prey to her unpredictability once again?

He wasn't given a chance to ruminate on his concerns, because she positioned her entrance in line with his throbbing, hard cock and thrusted without warning and without permission. He relaxed and settled into her heat as it expanded to accommodate him, and he had to blink back tears in his eyes. He hadn't been inside of Katherine for a hundred and forty-six years, and _this_ …

It was too much. It _couldn't_ just be sex. It was never just sex with them, despite both of their heated protests to the contrary.

What vindictive son of a bitch greater than life entity was cruel enough to inflict this fate on him? How and _why_ had he ended up as the unlucky motherfucker who was destined to be unequivocally, undeniably in love with Katherine Pierce and, more importantly, what the hell was he going to do about it?

*****

A gasp was strangled inside of her throat—clawing to get out, a raw, animalistic cry for help. There was a vice-grip twisting around her organs, but no object was wedged into her chest, nothing to realistically describe the sensation. There was blood pooling in her eyes, and her head was light, dizzy—her mind was fuzzy, faint, and her vision was clouded, just blurry shadows dancing in frantic twists and turns of motion.

Suddenly, she was swept off her feet and blasted into a hard, unyielding surface, and the most painful ache pounded in her head. Her ears were pulsing loudly, blocking out the sounds of shouts and chaos surrounding her. There was suddenly a tangy substance on her tongue, something forceful holding it in place, and she lapped at it tentatively. Something registered in her foggy brain—it was blood, but it didn't taste like the blood she'd steadily become accustomed to. It tasted of exorbitant power the likes of which she'd never felt—sustenance, sensual fortification. It gave strength to her limbs, and lifted the fog off her consciousness—just slightly, just enough to hear some words being exchanged amidst screams and explosions.

"Elijah; grab her, get her out of here! They're gunning for her, not us. I'll hold them off!"

The voice rang in her ears, it was the voice right next to her—she squinted in confusion to make out the still blurry figure; Kol?—and suddenly, she was being hoisted up by her elbows, a smooth baritone voice whispering against the shell of her ear—"You're alright, Elena. You have to work with me, you're going to be fine," but the conviction was shaky and panicked, one that Elena had never heard from Elijah before—it was Elijah, yes? Yes, that voice was Elijah. She'd recognize it anywhere.

Before they could move another inch, Elena felt a sharp jab in her chest, and a spread of excruciating fire swept her entire body. Her mind went blank—where was she, what was this sensation?—and suddenly, there was only darkness.

" _No!"_ The shout was one of deep, tormented anguish, and it ripped from Elijah's chest violently as he gripped the head of the last remaining witch and brutally ripped it off—the one that had just successfully jammed a stake in Elena's heart.

He frantically pulled Matt Donavon closer, nearly snapping his wrist off with the force in which he bit into it—"Drink it, Elena… please, _please…"_ He pushed it into her mouth, but her lips were still… unresponsive.

_Dead._

The word swirled around in his mind like a jeer, a taunt, a reminder of everything he'd ever lost, of everything he'd ever wanted and wasted…

Her eyes were pooled with blood, her skin was grey and desiccated, and his heart bled through the prickling of tears in his eyes.

He'd failed—he'd failed, _again._ He let his heart get in the way, _again._

But moreover, this time he hadn't just failed himself—he failed _her._

And with a cry of agony not unlike one of a wounded animal, he rose to his knees, carrying Elena Gilbert's dead body in his shaky, trembling arms.

*****

Twenty miles away in a cab rushing through the packed city streets, a disheveled redheaded woman pulled out her phone and texted:

**09/15/12**

4:43 a.m.

' _We did as you asked; they were there, just as you said._ _The doppelganger is dead. The other one is still alive, we couldn't get to him.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes** : So guys, what did you think? I know, Elena's dead... sad, isn't it?
> 
>  **Next Time** : Everyone's distraught over Elena's funeral, and Damon has some choice words to say about how he hasn't been involved at all.
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> Okay, guys... take a breath, I'm kidding. Elena's not really dead-did you guys really think I'd kill the main character in Ch. 5? This isn't Game of Thrones. But, I do have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, I just can't divulge it until next chapter. However, in the spirit of having some fun, I'd like for you guys to guess.
> 
> Here's what I'm thinking: If you guys can tell me something that a) Elena did or b) something that happened to Elena in _either this chapter OR the last one_ and you are correct, I'll write you a one-shot specifically for you. You don't have to tell me why this event means that Elena is still alive (that would probably be impossible unless you're inside my head) but I think one of you can come up with the event itself. My only hint for you would be this: _Be as specific as possible._
> 
> As for the one-shot, I will write just about anything with some conditions. I will also take prompts if you wish to give them, but please don't put your prompts in the reviews. If you win the contest, I'll PM you about what your ship/prompt is. Unfortunately, that means guests cannot participate. Sorry, guys. :(
> 
> So yep-I'll write anything. Delena, Klaroline, hell-I'll write Carol Lockwood. Yes, you heard me right. For you guys, I'd write _Carol Lockwood_. I must love you guys a whole lot.
> 
>  **Conditions** :
> 
> 1) I won't write Steferine. I'm sorry, this is more for you than it is for me. I wouldn't be able to put 100% into it, and that's not fair to you guys. It's not that I'm unwilling to write it, it's that I'm unwilling to give you guys less than you deserve.
> 
> 2) I won't write anything involving a character or plot line exclusive to any season after season 3. This one is an important one. That means I won't write anyone who appeared after the Season 3 finale and I won't write any plot line that incorporates S4, 5 or 6 elements. This is mainly because I haven't seen them, and how can I write them if I haven't seen them?
> 
> 3) Only characters that have been shown on the show S1-S3 can be involved, not characters who have only been mentioned. That's kind of self-explanatory.
> 
> That's it. Have fun dissecting the last two chapters. ;)
> 
>  ** _The Real_ Next Time on D &R**: A certain eldest Original will react to Elena's 'death'-(rather emotionally and violently)-and a seemingly innocuous person suddenly gets thrust into the spotlight when new information is revealed. Damon and Elena have a long over-due 'talk' about their relationship, Stefan and Katherine are caught in an uncomfortable (and weirdly domestic) situation, Tyler and Caroline talk about how recent events have affected their relationship, and Katherine finally takes some time to fill Elena in on what she knows, albeit with her own unique 'flair'.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed, have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** :
> 
> Who am I? A: The most obnoxious fiction writer in the history of time.
> 
> Who are you? A: A saint, if you're still interested in this story.
> 
> I took quite a long vacation into old fandoms - (Gilmore Girls & Harry Potter, mostly) - but also got quite entrenched into new TV shows and that pesky thing called life, but, at the end of the day, here I am. Because they say 'Home is where the heart is', do they not? If that's true, then this story is my home. Always & Forever. ;)
> 
> Congrats to JMHUW who came closest to answering my question in your review by specifying Kol's blood specifically, the witch attack and for the reference to the Spike 'It's all about the blood' quote, which is ridiculously apt for the reason Elena's still alive. ;)
> 
> (Not sure if you're still interested in the story I offered the winner, 'cause it's been so long, but I'm going to PM you about it shortly.)
> 
> Also, I'm fully aware that the explanation for why Elena is still alive (and a lot of the exposition of Kol's flashback) is quite a lot to digest and probably pretty confusing, so I'm entirely willing to write out a Q and A at the start of the next chapter, so if you have questions you'd like answered, please leave them in your reviews and I'll do my best to answer them. That can go for other non-related plot lines too, though.
> 
> Onward. Enjoy, folks. :)
> 
> **Disclaimer** : The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings.

Being overwhelmed was not a state Kol Mikaelson was intimately familiar with. He was rather proud of the fact that in the face of stress and adversity, his track record of remaining calm, nonchalant and nonplussed was remarkably untarnished. But he now considered this feeling—the tightness of his chest, the small gasps of breath, the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, the adrenaline burning deep in his throat, the tension heavy between his brows and the high arch of his shoulders—and thought that perhaps _this_ is what being overwhelmed felt like.

His gaze travelled first through the open archway into the next room, down to the ornately carved dining room table—an outlandish piece of décor that could seat fifty, never mind the fact that Nik didn't have _five_ people he'd trust into this area of his home, let alone fifty.

Resting atop the expansive wood surface was a body—Elena Gilbert's dead, grey, immobile form, neatly placed and evenly tucked as though it were in a coffin. Elijah took great lengths to ensure that he did not damage the girl's remains as he used his most gentle gestures to place her there.

Kol had been sitting—his hands bouncing nervously on his lap, his posture straight and rigid, his eyes wide and haunted—for nearly forty-five minutes, and in that time, he heard Elijah wreck, tear and destroy every breakable item in the adjacent room that he could get his hands on. Kol's wide eyes finally settled on the dead girl's face—and such an interesting face it was.

This face had caused more grief and trauma to his family for the last millennia than he could've ever fathomed. It had once belonged to a whore—an assertive, aggressive, arrogant and evil woman who tore his family's loyalties into a puddle of ash on her wickedly gleeful whims. It had then belonged to a sacrifice—a means to an end, a weapon encased in a body, a girl who knew nothing of her destiny, a girl who upon discovering it, fled. She fled and became a shrewd, calculating woman—not quite as careless and evil as the one before her, but still she yearned for the first chair in the orchestra—would _die_ for the first chair in the orchestra—but was forever enslaved to play second fiddle.

Kol didn't know much about Elena Gilbert, but he had experienced enough to know that the girl hadn't even wanted a _seat_ in the orchestra. She wanted to distance herself as far away from her predecessors as possible. And perhaps that was what set her apart.

His brother Elijah was a complicated man; on the one hand, he was a man of solitude—solemn and dignified, refined and delicate. On the other hand, he was an uncontrollable wave of passions—of wants, desires, fears and heartaches. His austere disposition masked an internal firestorm, and there were only a scarce few in the world who could cause his façade to slip.

Even Tatia, the falsely sweet devil, the siren that lured his brothers into eternal damnation—her death had not caused such a reaction in Elijah. When Tatia died, Elijah took it with grace; he took it in stride, he picked himself up off the ground, wiped the tears from his eyes and carried on. No words of grief, no actions of sadness, no display of anger. That's how Kol knew—that's how Kol knew Elijah had never loved her.

Then Katerina, the naïve human sacrifice, the intriguing puzzle that lured his brothers into eternal competition—her death had not caused such a reaction in Elijah. When Katerina fled, Elijah took it with regret; he carried his disappointment in the hunch of his shoulders, but it wasn't sorrow that he'd lost her, it wasn't sorrow that he'd never _had_ her; it was sorrow that he couldn't save her. Elijah, again, carried on; no words of grief, no actions of sadness, no display of anger. That's how Kol knew—that's how Kol knew Elijah had never loved her.

And now, Elena; the second human sacrifice, the determined, relentless eighteen year old human who openly defied every monster that came her way, the girl who put her trust where she ought not to and her loyalties where they were not deserved. _Her_ death had caused a reaction—an obliteration of Elijah's composed façade and a deep, dark, painful look into the depths of his inner turmoil. When Elena died, Elijah took it with pain; he carried his anguish in the sweat of his brow, displayed his contempt with the malicious glint in his dark, dead eyes. There were words of grief—there were _shouts_ of grief; painful, animalistic cries that reverberated through every wall of the house. There were actions of sadness—the slump of his shoulders, the wetness of his eyes, the quivering of his lips when he laid her body to rest. And oh, were there displays of anger—the rage and fury in his chest, the clench of his fists as they broke glass windows and maimed colored canvases. That's how Kol knew—that's how Kol knew that Elena was different. Elena was the _anomaly_.

_Why_? Kol sat there, eyes narrowed intensely, scrutinizing her rigid, immobile silhouette— _What made this girl Elijah's anomaly?_

He tore his eyes away, letting them fall to the side table at his feet. There, open and disheveled, was a black, leather-bound notebook with thick, yellow pages and the scent of fresh ink. Picking it up carefully, he mouthed the last scribbles to himself in a hoarse whisper—" _Clarke Smyth. Possible fighter; may be of the five. Descendent of Inteus Belvin's sect_?"

His eyes widened with alarm as a swirl of memories carried Kol to a time long since suppressed.

*****

The storm outside was increasing in strength, its force breaking tree limbs, uprooting shrubs and disrupting seas. She held a warm piece of cloth to the boy's forehead, singing a tribal tune she had learned from her mother many moons past. A soft cough emitted from the boy's lips, and she cradled his head in her arms, smiling as he opened his eyes.

"Kol, my child—" she whispered to him gently, "You are safe. You are with me, and I—"

"You will always take care of me," Kol finished for her with a fond smile. "You take care of me, Ayana, even now, when I am a monster who does not need nor deserve your care." He sat up slowly and his bleary eyes focused to his surroundings. They were in the foothold under Ayana's home, a sanctuary for her magick and, for now, a sanctuary from the storm.

A wry smile crept onto her lips as she dipped the cloth in the bucket under Kol's cot. "You have the teeth of a monster, my dear child, but the soul of a man—the soul of a beaten man, a discouraged man… you are a broken spirit, my boy, but you are not a monster."

Kol's smile was cruel, but it was flimsy—fake, like something practiced. "Were he alive, Gosheven Bruner would beg to disagree, Ayana."

Ayana shook her head, declaring with powerful conviction, "Gosheven Bruner was a mistake that your mother forced on you." Her voice lowered, a terse growl in her tone, "Your mother forced onto you many mistakes."

"My mother is dead," Kol stated with finality, avoiding the direct line of her eyes; "Let us not dwell in the past."

Ayana seemed to concede the point, lulling into silence and instead pressing the cloth firmly against Kol's stomach, grimacing as the boy winced in pain—"Do you remember what happened, child?"

His memory was foggy at best, and with a strained voice, his breath labored and shoulders scrunched, he questioned, "Awenasha, you've heard of her… the girl they say harbors the old world powers—one of the witches that live beyond the creek in Shiver's Pond…" he swallowed convulsively, trying to remember; "There was smoke, lots of it… she was chanting, and I passed out. That's…" his eyes suddenly widened in disbelief; "My father! My father was—" his gaze darkened considerably and he bolted straight up, the cloth falling into his lap, his tone harsh and demanding, "What does my father have to do with any of this, Ayana?"

Ayana's voice was steady, but it was saturated in deep sorrow—"Your father has dealt a great disturbance to the natural order, my son. When your mother created you and your siblings into what you are today, I thought nothing could disturb the balance to that degree ever again. I was wrong, Kol… so very wrong. I underestimated Mikael, I should never have."

Kol wasted no time in asking the unasked. "What has he done, Ayana?"

Her dark eyes were cold with displeasure. "The witch families beyond Shiver's Pond are unlike any others I've ever known—they seek power, they _crave_ it, beyond any confines of rational thought. Mikael exploited this… he offered them the power they covet, in his attempt at vengeance against your brother. I know it comes as no surprise to you that your father is hunting Niklaus for the sins of your mother, but the lengths to which he would go…" she let out a slow, shallow breath, her tone hollow and defeated; "I don't think there is anyone among us who could've anticipated this."

Shortly after they awoke from their transition, Niklaus had been the first to flee the village. He knew Mikael was waiting to enact his revenge, and he told each of his siblings that he wasn't going to wait for death like a coward; rather, he was going to fight against everything Mikael stood for, until only one remained the victor.

Kol had known his father wouldn't take the news of Niklaus leaving easily without responding in some way, but the way Ayana was speaking…

Ayana was never one to overdramatize; that had always been his mother. If she were speaking of Mikael's actions in such a way, he knew it must've been devastating.

"Ayana, please. Tell me what he has done."

Her eyes held a strand of hesitation, her fingers grasped tightly in the warm, wet cloth—"I fear your reaction."

His lips quirked into a brief smile. "'Fear nothing, my son, for fear is the limp wolf who barks but cannot bite.' A wise woman once told me that on my tenth birthday, as I recall it."

There was warmth in her smile now, but it did nothing to diminish the hesitance in her eyes. She spoke slowly, carefully tasting every word thick on her tongue. "As you know, there are five witch covens that live beyond Shiver's Pond… your father has exploited their lust for power, and he has done this in exchange for help to hunt Niklaus. He has not merely employed the witches' help, however. I imagine he wanted the wolves' help above all, but he could not arrange their allegiance, not with his murder of Blackelk, Niklaus' true father. He rounded up five of the roughest, most brutal families in the village and the witches bequeathed them with superhuman strength the likes of which we've never known – the ability to be a _new_ kind of hunter, one that suits Mikael's purposes." A thick lump formed in her throat and she looked deep into the turmoil of Kol's eyes.

"A hunter of vampires," Kol finished for her.

"Indeed," she confirmed with morose sadness.

"Who?" Kol asked, "Who have these witches given such power to? And"—he broke off, his mind drowning in relentless waves of understanding—"… and what are these witches getting out of it? You said my father is exploiting their lust for power; what begets them power by instilling it in someone else?"

"The magnitude of magic responsible for such a task bonds its caster with its recipient; each of the five witch covens creates a magical bond with one of the families they empower. The witches and their respective families, in essence, become one. Their own sect, their own sacred family. The bond makes it so the witches powers can feed off the hunter family's strength." She took a long, deep breath. "Mikael has played every weapon in his arsenal perfectly—by exploiting the witches lust for power, he has created superhuman hunters capable of taking down Niklaus. By the very nature of the bonding, the witches receive the power they so covet, and become another weapon he may wield as he pleases. And, the five sects that the witches and hunters combine to create remain faithful and loyal to the very man that bestowed them their power."

"By God," Kol whispered in astonishment. His eyes narrowed suddenly, scrutinizing the way Ayana seemed to squirm in discomfort. "You evaded my question, Ayana," he accused suddenly; "Who have these witches given power to?"

Ayana forced herself to hold her head straight, looking him square in the eye, her words full of strength and resolve; "Five families. Frasher; Ghormley; Mixwater; Risingfawn…" her hands clenched the now dry cloth between her twitching fingertips, "And Belvin."

"Belvin?" Kol echoed softly, his teeth clenched. " _Belvin_?!" He stood up, knocked over a water bucket at his feet and kicked it against the stone wall, watching it shatter into a million broken shards. The coloring of his face was dark with displeasure, the veins of his vampire visage tickling his red-hot eyes. "As in… as in _Halian and Inteus Belvin_ – the bastard sods who raped my Huyana two weeks before she was killed?"

Ayana stood, a fair ways away from Kol, her posture uncertain, but conviction secure, "Kol, I strongly advise that you think before you—"

"I will kill them," he asserted powerfully; "Both of them. I will rip their lungs from their chests and shove them down their throats." A manic gleam of terror spread across his handsome face, distorting the edges, and he made a dash to the door, but Ayana blocked his path.

Eyes tinged blood red and teeth piercing and snarling, Kol barked, "Out! Out of my way, Ayana—I do not wish to harm you."

Ayana's voice was deadly calm. "I have always let you make your own decisions, my son. I will not interfere with your plans—however, you do not know all the information. It is my duty to inform you." Kol simply snarled louder, his animal instinct getting the best of him. "Listen! The first vampire to take the life of a hunter will be granted a gift—immunity. They cannot be harmed by any member of the sect—witch or hunter. If you go after the Belvin boys, none of the Belvin sect will ever be able to harm you again. The immunity from their hands will run within your bloodstream forever."

Kol laughed, a dark, chilling amusement. "So if I enact my vengeance on Halian and Inteus, I not only get well deserved justice, but immunity from their entire sect for eternity? I fail to see a problem."

"Think, Kol!" Ayana scolded. "What was the first lesson of magick I ever taught you?"

"Move out of the way, dammit!" Kol hissed in anger.

"What was it?!" Ayana shouted, remaining firmly in place.

Kol took a deep breath, his eyes and teeth still sharp with sadistic delight, and said, much softer, "There is no magic without consequence. The balance demands something taken from something given," he recited, monotone as if a long ago ingrained mantra.

"Make your decision as you please, my son—but remember this: If you are the first vampire to take a hunter's life, immunity from **their** sect is given. Immunity from the **other** sects is taken. The Belvins and their witches will be unable to kill you, under any circumstance. The others… Frasher; Ghormley; Mixwater; Risingfawn… your life will become **vulnerable** to them. They will not need the ashes of the oak tree. Any simple stake will do you in at their hands."

Kol paused visibly, but did not move an inch.

Ayana's voice softened, and she squeezed Kol's hands tightly. "Ask yourself if petty vengeance is worth the risk to your life. That's all I ask."

Wrenching his hands out of her grip, his red eyes boring straight into her dark ones, he whispered in repent—"I'm sorry," and left the security and comfort of Ayana's home for the last time.

In the dwindling hours of midnight, he fought a fierce battle with the two Belvin men, and he narrowly escaped with his life, taking with him the decapitated head of Halian Belvin, the dead man's brother Inteus running with his life intact as cowards are wont to do.

*****

Kol's eyes flickered upwards to Elena Gilbert's dead body. A terrible but seemingly impossible question swirled in his head—Elijah seemed to believe that there was a Five hunter descended from Inteus Belvin running about. If this were true, it was entirely possible that the witches with the immense power who had struck in Philadelphia were Five witches bonded with this Belvin descendant. He swung his legs around, standing and pacing. It made sense. He hadn't noticed in all the chaos, but it was strange that he felt none of the effects of the witch's powers. He had chalked it up to sheer luck, but _perhaps_ … perhaps it wasn't.

If the witches were of Belvin descent, that means he was granted immunity from their harm. His _blood_ granted him immunity from their harm, as Ayana had phrased it.

_Wait_.

Staring at Elena Gilbert, he swallowed convulsively. Could that mean… could that mean that the immunity ran in his very bloodstream? Because, if so, it would be transferred to anyone who ingested it… anyone with his blood in their veins as they were attacked. _Wouldn't it_?

His feet brought him closer and closer to the girl as he pondered.

Elena ingested his blood seconds before the witches killed her. All things considered, it was possible that his immunity from the Belvin sect granted Elena, who had his blood in her veins when she died, that same gift. Wasn't it?

He wasn't given time to ruminate on the possibility, however, as the girl's skin rapidly lightened from its deep, dark grey to its natural olive coloring, her chestnut brown eyes snapped open and, suddenly and forcefully, her body lifted off the table in a torturous lurch, gasping for breath.

*****

_'Are you so foolish as to care for her?'_

Strangled breath, a gasp lodged in his throat. Piercing blue eyes narrowed in a vicious rage. His tone one of condescension—how could you be so weak? So pitiful, so… _human_? Elijah has never been anything but human, even with sharp teeth and a sharper appetite. He hates his brother—hates him for being so unfeeling, so cold, so cruel. But he hates him most of all because he's right. He made a mistake—he cared too much. And yes, he got burned. Oh, how Katerina had burned him.

He takes one of the paint cans in Niklaus' study and crushes the metal between his fingertips until its nothing but liquid putty falling to the ground. His teeth are locked and rigid, his eyes puffy and irises red, a terrible mixture of painful emotion and uncontrollable fury.

From the moment he met Elena Gilbert, he had taken every precaution to stay as detached as possible. He treated her more like livestock than a human being, a sacrificial offering to slaughter on an altar for the Gods. And it had worked, for a time. She had been just another face, just the second copy of Tatia, and nothing more.

And then, with one fluid flick of her wrist, it all changed. He remembers the look in her eyes when she handed him the dagger—purposeful, determined, trusting—and her humanity was so achingly sincere that he couldn't help the catch of his breath. It would've excited his brothers for a very different reason—a human girl, an _important_ human girl, delicately placed her trust directly in his hands. Oh, the sinister plans Niklaus would've employed with that advantage.

But if Elijah knows anything, it's that he's never been Niklaus.

_'I'll tell you, but not here.'_

She gave him the dagger, raised her eyebrow in defiance of everything he'd ever thought her to be, and in that moment, he saw beyond her face. He saw beyond Tatia, beyond Katerina—there was steel in her eyes that neither of her predecessors had possessed. Tatia's eyes were wicked—gleeful, sadistic, as if she was always lording something over your head, and you didn't quite know what. Katerina's eyes were hard—determined, like Elena's—but different. The hardness in Katerina's eyes was born of shrewdness, of careful, precise calculation. She was all thought, all masterful logic. The hardness in Elena's eyes was born of emotion—raw, gritty emotion. Purpose, tenacity and passion. It wasn't calm, controlled or calculated—it was primal, and so very, very human.

Of course, now— _now_ , it was nothing. Now it was empty. Now it was dead.

_'It's a common mistake, I'm told. It's one I won't make again.'_

He's sure Elena didn't know it, but he wasn't threatening her—he was reassuring himself. The way she had looked at him in that very moment— _'You cared about her'_ —, the way his vulnerability appealed to her and the way her empathy appealed to him, he halted it dead in its tracks.

Or, at least, he'd attempted. Given his best effort.

His inner voice sounds so much like his father— _'Best effort? You gave it your **best effort**? You are pathetic, sentimental—you are a fool.'_

He rips at the window dressings and they tear easily, too easily. He wants something, someone, to rip his teeth into. Something to feast on—to quell his rage, to sedate his hunger.

_'You are a fool.'_

She had seduced him. Not with false promises, nor with sweet declarations or tantalizing sensuality—no, with humanity. She had seduced the part of his soul that desired to be rid of the monster, to live a life free of burdens, to lay his body to rest in a finality that he will never achieve.

No, _she_ hadn't seduced him. He _let her_ seduce him. He wanted it. Hell, he'd _begged_ for it.

_'You are a fool.'_

His lips curve into an acerbic smile, sardonic and bitter. A fool is blind not in the eyes, but in the heart.

_'You are a fool.'_

He doesn't need breath, has no use for oxegen, and yet, he's suffocating. Boiling. Drowning. He claws at his shirt collar, ripping his tie into little shreds of blood red tears.

_'You are a—'_

"Elijah."

He turns, his eyes bloodshot, his hands gripped tightly around an antique vase, to see Kol wavering in the doorway, his jaw slack and his posture uncertain in a way so uncharacteristic and jarring that it makes Elijah pause.

"She's—Elena… she's _awake_. She just… woke up."

The vase cracks.

*****

An old, beaten up '94 pick-up sat in the Donavon's driveway, engine still running, smoke emitting in erratic wisps of white steam. A couple houses down, a young blonde girl with flimsy braids was running through a sprinkler, her mother lounging on a green striped beach chair, a gossip magazine in her lap and a cigarette between her fingers.

The two men in the pick-up truck were unnervingly silent, surveying the carefree, innocent display of childish glee with a sort of resigned sadness.

Matt's voice was soft, but not quite timid. "Why did we leave her there?"

Stefan's voice, on the other hand, held no hesitance. "She deserves some answers—the kind of which we can't give her."

"I don't trust them," Matt spat bitterly, a harsh swirling of acidic vinegar present in his tone. "I don't know what their agenda is, but I do know whatever it is, it's not in Elena's best interest, and that's all I care about."

"You trust _me_ then?" Stefan asked, a little genuine surprise evident in the raising of his brows.

Matt laughed, a dark, humorless chuckle, a chilling sound from the normally reserved young blonde. "Do I trust you?! You murdered my sister, I fucking _hate_ you!" There was a flash of pure anger in Matt's eyes, but it dissipated quickly. "But… with, Elena…" He paused, sighing, as if he wished he could take back his words before he even spoke them. "You've proven, at the very least, that you love her. That puts you slightly above those slimy bastards in my book, at least when it comes to protecting her."

Stefan's voice was somewhat hollow and entirely monotone when he answered, "Elena and I are no longer together—"

"Doesn't matter," Matt brushed him off brusquely; "Can you tell me that means you've just suddenly stopped loving her? Of course you can't; you'd do anything for her, even if it wasn't something you agreed with. You know how I know that? 'Cause _so would I_."

The blatant naiveté, while disconcerting, was at the same time a nice change of pace. He had thought that the madness of this town's insidious supernatural infestation had robbed all those involved of their innocence. _Maybe not everyone_ , Stefan mused with a rueful half-smile.

"I don't trust them either, Matt, but you know as well as I do that Elena does. Look, they have an agenda, yes, but it's clear they're not going to harm her. Not _now_ , at least. We'll figure out what their end game is, but for now, I'm willing to let it play out." Matt went to interrupt, but Stefan shut him down forcefully. "I care about her as much as you do, and that's my entire point. If we brought her back here kicking and screaming, she'd just find another way to get answers from them – probably a more dangerous way, honestly. She's resourceful like that," Stefan chuckled with a sad but affectionate smile.

Matt could not refute that, but he still looked immensely displeased. "I worried about her less when she was with you."

_Yeah_ , Stefan sighed, _So did I_.

"Get some sleep," Stefan said, more an order than a suggestion. "You've been through a lot in the past few days, your body needs it. I haven't abandoned Elena, trust me. I'll keep an eye out for her, you should know that. I'll always protect her, that's non-negotiable."

"Elijah wants her for himself," Matt stated brutally, "It's clear as day, I'm sure you can see it. What are you going to do about it?"

Stefan cringed, the harsh wording of Matt's declaration stinging deep.

"I don't know," he answered solemnly.

"You don't _know_? You can't leave her to his advances – he's the worst of 'em all. Damn snake in the grass, that guy is. His brothers are brash, headstrong – you can tell _they're_ psychotic. Elijah… that guy is underhanded, and so are his intentions."

_And mine aren't_? Stefan mused to himself darkly.

Such a long time and exposed to so many horrible things, and Matt was still underestimating vampires.

"We'll talk more soon," Stefan said, easily declaring the end of the conversation, and left the car with no real parting. Walking past the young girl and her mother, he noted that the woman was watching him curiously. He nodded with a small smile, his mind elsewhere entirely.

He wasn't about to wage a war on Elijah Mikaelson for Elena's affections, _that_ was for certain. But all the same, he wasn't going to slink away with his tail between his legs either.

He and Elena had been through hell too many times to count and came back mostly intact – that meant _something_ to her, he knew. It surely meant something to _him_.

He vowed a long time ago to respect her decisions, but as far as he knew, no decision had been made.

He was just as naïve as Matt, wasn't he? Well, one thing is for certain – it took him decades to make peace with the end of his and Katherine's relationship, and he hadn't even been in love with her in the first place. Come hell or high water, he was going to fight to avoid figuring out what getting over Elena Gilbert entailed.

*****

"For fuck's sake, those Belvin bastards are still out reigning terror wherever they deign to spit and you didn't think to tell me?!"

…

"I didn't think it pertinent to get you involved until I was certain, Kol; you know where your mind is when it comes to that family and it's far from clear-headed."

…

" _Clear headed_? You expect me to be clear headed, brother? _Would you_?! What if those Belvin fuckwits had gone after Niabe instead of Huyana? What if they'd gone after Rebekah?" Kol was seething, positively foaming at the mouth. His lips twisted into a horrible sneer, " _Elena_?" He paused, his expression murderous. "What if Halian and Inteus Belvin had raped sweet, precious Elena?"

…

The eerie, passive calm that had taken hold of Elijah's features vanished, replaced only by a snarl. "Don't you dare insinuate-"

…

"I'll insinuate what I like, dammit! _That's_ what they did to me; that's what they took away from me. Answer my question, brother, if they had raped – hell, if whoever this Clarke bastard is – does rape Gilbert, do you expect that you'll be clear minded about anything ever again?!"

…

"If you're honestly worried for my safety, talk to me about it, don't use it as bait for someone else's anger."

Both men turned immediately, Kol's face ashen red with malice and rage, with his older brother's pallor pale as a sheet, staring at a girl he never imagined he'd see walk ever again. "Elena," Elijah began, "You shouldn't be—"

"It's been _four_ days, Elijah," she cut off sharply; "I've been sleeping for four days, I'm not missing anything else."

Kol snorted, still entirely self-consumed, and turned away from Elena. "Let's take this into the other room—"

"I'd like to see you try to keep me out of this conversation, Kol."

The younger Mikaelson laughed, humorless and cold. "You're an insolent little bitch, aren't you, Gilbert?"

She did not rise to the taunt itself, but a cruel smile spread on her lips as she said, "I'm sorry, but these are the same people that just successfully _murdered_ me, are they not? I don't know who the hell Huyana is, but you clearly want the same revenge I do. Elijah will hold you back from that— _I_ won't. So long as I actually know who they are and what's going on."

Kol surveyed her curiously while Elijah seemed to grow more shocked with each word exchanged. A sardonic but not entirely humorless laugh bubbled from Kol's throat as he gave a wry smirk—"They all say she's so different from the last one," he addressed to neither of them in particular, "I don't see much difference."

Before Elena could respond to the unnerving comparison, Kol waved her off; "Have it your way, Gilbert," he motioned towards the living room, "I'll tell you what's going on. I'll tell you _exactly_ what's going on," he shot a pointed look at his brother this time, "But when Elijah has to snap your neck again to keep you from running off in terror, don't expect help from me."

"I'm a lot of things, but I'm not an idiot," she spat bitterly; "I'd never expect help from you in this universe or any other."

Kol just shrugged and walked through the entry to the parlor room without a single look backwards.

"Elena—" Elijah began, his voice filled with its usual dark, chilling resolution.

"I deserve answers," she cut him off.

"You will get them."

"On _your_ schedule, I assume?"

"My brother has a flair for the dramatics," Elijah scoffed; "Any answers you get from him will be sensational nonsense."

She shook her head and smiled – a bitter, pitiful thing. "Then you'd better come and counteract that nonsense, because I'm getting it one way or another."

Elijah glowered, torn between attempting patience and demanding she go back upstairs and _stay there_ – forever, possibly.

"Is my resolution a surprise to you?" Elena asked, an undertone of petulance in her sarcasm.

Elijah laughed, a dark chuckle. "I've learned that nothing you do can surprise me any longer – I'm entirely prepared for any antics coming from you. I'd like to see you _try_ to catch me unawares."

A wicked smirk on her lips, Elena whispered, low, intimate, and slightly suggestive — "Challenge accepted."

Elijah took a substantial sip of his tea, watching her walk away with an awestruck expression on his face.

Just a month ago, Elena had never once considered that she'd be sitting in the Mikaelson's parlor room, the most composed man she'd ever known looking decidedly more anxious than she did, his brother lounging comfortably in a plush armchair, a decanter of rum in his hands and a sadistic smile on his lips. Hell, she never thought she'd set foot in this house ever again and, at the time, she was quite satisfied with that.

If there's anything Elena Gilbert has learned since transitioning, it's that where her life is concerned, nothing is too absurd to rule out.

"Let's start with a question I have first and then we'll get to your petty concerns later." Kol leaned forward, all traces of playfulness gone from his demeanor, "Who is Clarke Smyth?"

Whatever Elena had been expecting him to say, it wasn't this. "Matt's father?"

"The kid whose hand I broke, right?" He directed this question towards his brother this time.

Elijah nodded, but did not speak.

"Alright," Elena spoke softly, "I answered your question – now answer mine: Who are the Belvin family?"

This time, Elijah did not hesitate even slightly before cutting in right before his brother. "A family we knew as humans – you know there are people who proclaim to be vampire hunters, yes?" Elena nodded, swallowing painfully at the mere thought of the man she'd never been given the time to mourn. "At various points in history, many people have self-proclaimed to hunt the undead, but only five families were ever officially bequeathed gifts of superhuman strength designed specifically for hunting us. Commonly referred to as 'The Five', they were created by our father for the sole purpose of hunting and killing Niklaus."

Elena was quiet for a good few seconds, digesting before she said, "And the Belvin family was one of them."

"Obviously," Kol spat in derision but seemed content to say nothing else.

"It was Belvin family descendants who attempted to kill me, then?"

"Yes, but not exactly," Elijah spoke, his voice heavy and thick with a morose sort of regret; "The ones who came to Philadelphia to kill you were _witches_ , but, technically, they were _Belvin_ witches." He put a hand up to silence Elena's further questioning and she lulled into silence immediately.

Kol cut in, glaring at his brother. "This is my story, brother, why don't you let me tell it?" When there was no outward protest, Kol continued – "When dear ole' Dad created 'The Five', giving each family superhuman strength, he could not have achieved this without witches. Little power-hungry cunts only did what he wanted for quid pro quo – any power the witches gave the new hunters, the witches themselves received two-fold."

Her voice hoarse and uneasy, Elena asked, "So Five hunters and witches collaborate to take down a common enemy? And what makes one a 'Belvin' witch rather than just a witch?"

A dark grimace flashed across Kol's face—"The nature of the spell used to give the hunters their power bonded witch and hunter families in ways that had only once been dreamed of. For all intents and purposes, they belong to the same line now. There are five lines – five hunter families, of which Belvin is one, and a line of witches for each family. The other four family lines have all died out – at least, _as far as I know_." Kol narrowed his eyes on his elder brother's shadow—"Until a few days ago, I was under the impression the Belvin line had suffered the same fate."

"Who ordered the attack on me, then? Did the Belvin hunters have a motive for having me dead or was it the witches themselves that orchestrated it all?"

Kol shrugged, "Hard to pinpoint exactly, but we—well, _he_ ," he motioned to Elijah, "—seems to believe the current head of the Belvin hunter line has a reason to be interested in you."

"Matt's dad," Elena whispered in horror.

Kol's mouth dropped open, but Elijah just smirked at him.

Elijah picked it up smoothly, as though Kol had never dropped it – "I believe so, yes."

"No," Elena dismissed immediately; "That's not possible."

Kol's voice was harsh, degrading—"And you're basing that assumption on your how many years of involvement with 'The Five?'"

"I've known Matt's dad forever. He's a lowlife, but he's not a vampire hunter, nor the mastermind behind some millennia-long supernatural feud – the idea is absolutely absurd. The man could barely hold an intelligent conversation."

"Belvin's _are_ lowlifes," Kol muttered darkly; "Unintelligent, barely functioning, vicious idiot savants and I should've castrated Inteus Belvin when I had the opportunity – should've pulled his intestines straight from his throat and hung him with them like a fucking noose."

"They hurt someone you cared about," Elena surmised; it wasn't a question. "Huyana, I gather?"

Kol set the decanter of rum on the table and stood, as close to Elena's face as he could get without Elijah objecting. "I'll satisfy your insipid curiosity, little doppelganger, on one condition."

Careful to not even take a breath, Elena instinctively answered, soft and submissive, "What's that?"

"Once I finish, I never want to hear that name come off your lips again, do you understand me? I _will_ kill you, regardless of my brother's feelings, and I'll deliver your severed head on a nice, cute little silver platter to the Salvatore Boarding House, are we clear?"

Gathering all the bravado in her entire body, Elena nodded with great difficulty, and Kol retreated back to his seat. "Huyana was my wife—my best friend as a human. She meant everything to me, and Halian and Inteus Belvin – motherfucking animals that they were – raped her because it seemed 'fun'. Because they were 'bored'. Huyana was my wife, and she was the mother of my child that never got to see the light of day. So when my brother asks me to be 'clear headed' about their family line, I understandably get somewhat – _irritated_."

Not a second after Elena opened her mouth, Kol fixed her with a chilling glare that melted any words of condolence off her tongue. "What did I say, doppelganger?"

Sensing the palpable tension, Elijah surveyed Elena and her prominent distress with equal parts intrigue and compassion. She raised her head to meet his gaze and he held it back. There had always been this characteristic way Elena looked at him that transcended their rather significant age difference – in moments like these, he didn't feel like the millennia year old vampire that he was, but rather like an innocent young man living amongst werewolves, witches and all kinds of old magick, understanding none of it. They were anything but equals, and yet, she fixed him with this stare that was unnaturally confident, trusting and self-assured. With most people – vampire, human or otherwise – it was an entirely different story. Their eyes widened with fear, with trepidation. Elena's eyes just narrowed with challenge and the occasional spark of a distinct amusement.

No one had ever had the gall to be amused by him – admittedly, her audacity and vigor was part of what drew him to her in the first place, but the unabashed amusement was a more recent development that he wasn't sure how he felt about yet. In some ways, he was intrigued, even bemused. In others, he was outraged.

"Have we deteriorated into the eye-fucking portion of the conversation, or is the doppelganger going to ask the question any sane person would want to know at this point?"

Elena started, snapping her head up to look at Kol's smug face, and asked, rather shaken and startled, "Well, yeah — why I'm alive is definitely something that's on my mind."

Kol rolled his eyes at his brother's obvious discomposure. This was ridiculous – what was so special about some eighteen year old chit that had his normally stoic brother so whipped? It was… disconcerting, to say the least. "To sum up a rather complicated story, my blood grants me immunity to attacks by the Belvin line – hunters and witches alike – and you ingested my blood before you died – hence, _your_ temporary immunity." Kol stood up, made a show of stretching, a small sliver of his shirt rising, a salacious smirk on his lips, and declared, "I'm ravished – anyone want to go out and find someone to eat?"

"Hold up," Elena said instantly, stunned. "You… _fed me_ your blood, to – keep me alive?" It was so preposterous – Kol Mikaelson cared whether she lived or died? Never mind the fact that she happened to know that blood sharing was a rather... _intimate_ endeavor between vampires. For Kol to make such a declaration of protective intent - and to say it so nonchalantly at that - shocked her speechless.

Shrugging, Kol answered flippantly, "I've never sired a vampire before, believe it or not, but I understand the proper protocol is something along the lines of not letting the sired die in the first couple weeks. I don't half-ass things."

Elena's jaw dropped, eyes widening comically. Despite the knowledge that Matt's father was a vampire hunter gunning for her death, this was the information that pushed her over the edge. " _What_?!"

Responding immediately, Elijah rose and interrupted, "I think what my br—"

Kol's attempt at faux-innocence was downright laughable. "I'm sorry, was that an insensitive way to drop that news? I've never been in this situation before, you'll have to forgive my lack of tact. As a matter of fact, I've never done _that_ well either."

"What – " Elena sputtered, trying to gather some semblance of composure, "What does that even mean?"

Kol's voice was droll, as dry as sandpaper. "In most customs, it means that my blood was used in your transition."

Elena stood now, her eyes glinting dangerously; "I know _that_! I meant… how does this affect us? Our… relationship?"

"Relationship?" Kol echoed, a positively feral grin directed as his brother. "What _relationship_ are you speaking of, doppelganger?"

"Oh, fuck you, Kol," she hissed in annoyance; "You know exactly what I meant. And I have a name, you know."

"Calm down, _Elena_ – it doesn't mean anything, not really," he lied through his teeth; rather convincingly, in fact. "Granted, in some older traditions, it was an unspoken rule that sires were meant to teach their new vampires to control and adapt, but that's not always followed these days. _Besides_ ," he grinned, his mouth upturned in a wry smile, "My brother seems to be filling that role for you quite splendidly."

Mouth still agape, his strong assurances placated her anger slightly but did nothing to eradicate her fear.

"Now – " Kol broke off, his usual playful, sinister spirit back full impact, "I'm going out to find someone delicious to play with. Feel free to stay and… _brood_ together, if that's what gets you guys hot."

Elena sank back down on the couch, a hand rubbing her forehead to alleviate a stress that she was sure wouldn't be relieved for quite some time. "Holy shit," she breathed slowly, trying to think of a stronger adjective for overwhelmed. It didn't quite do this justice. "I think you were right," she directed at Elijah, who still hadn't moved. "I'm fucking exhausted," she said, as if noticing for the first time.

Elijah, still shocked stricken, straightened up and sat down next to her. "It's a lot to take at once, I know — " he agreed, "I did give you fair warning about my brother's dramatizing, however. You have no one to blame but yourself in that respect."

"Mhm, I suppose," Elena answered, her eyes heavy with extreme fatigue, physical and emotional. Elijah draped a wool knit blanket over her and made to leave, but Elena spoke first – "And I'll have you know I'm well versed in Kol's – _dramatics_ after the past weekend, I think."

The elder vampire paused, a sharp, chilling grimace on his face. "What did he do?"

"Well, nothing particularly _bad_ per se," Elena waved off in nonchalance; "Just a little scandalous, I suppose. It's just that he was quite _vocally enthusiastic_ when he and Stefan were fucking; I mean, really, it was downright animalistic, and our beds were right next to each other. Honestly - where's the decency, I ask?"

Elijah, on instinctual, guttural reaction – partly by mere surprise, but mostly by hearing Elena refer to a sexual act as 'fucking' and speaking of animalistic sex almost… wistfully – sputtered momentarily, visibly caught off guard, and decidedly more… _aroused_ than sat well with him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elena spoke in a succinctly endearing voice that held a twinge of something edgier than its normal tone, "Did I startle you?" A laugh bubbling from her chest and an almost sadistic smile on her lips, she said, "Well, I guess I did. With that little dribble of tea on your chin, one might even say you've been _caught unawares_."

Her grin widened even more as his face darkened in realization. Her amused lips, curved into a very beautiful delight was dangerously enticing in a way Elijah had never allowed himself to attribute to Elena before. His voice was barely a whisper of a threat when he spoke, "Oh, that was very risky, Miss Gilbert."

"No reward without risk, as they say."

She was far too smug for him to let this go. They were unquestionably entering a new phase in their relationship, one in which Elena was far too comfortable in her conviction that they were on equal footing.

He looked forward to correcting her misconception.

He moved off the sofa, a wry smile gracing his lips in spite of himself. "Goodnight, Elena."

A brilliant, warm smile looked back up at him, and she curled into the warmth of the blanket, eyes closed in blissful comfort and murmured into the pillow, utterly unguarded, "Night, 'Lijah."

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes** : Things are about to get fun for our primary couple, guys. ;)
> 
> **Next Time on D &R**: The Boarding House finally lives up to its name for the first time in decades, Elena makes a decision to forward her own personal life completely outside of vampires, the supernatural and anyone involved in either, Stefan and Katherine are caught in an uncomfortable (and weirdly domestic) situation, Damon and Elena have a long over-due 'talk' about their relationship, Tyler and Caroline talk about how recent events have affected their relationship, and Katherine finally takes some time to fill Elena in on what she knows, albeit with her own unique 'flair'.


End file.
